Lost Innocence
Furnaces smoking
incessantly
A trail of meagre
sunlight peeking in
From a square
opening atop the barred windows
A shrill whistle
disturbs the ominous silence
A flurry of activity
commence
Short fragile bodies
move at lightning speed
To deliver scalding
hot molten glass
From the furnace to
the moulds
To be moulded into
stunningly beautiful bangles,
Very different from
those parched faces
And now coarse hands
and frail limbs
That work day and
night
For long exhausting
hours sans a break.
Emptying the pans to
be rushed back and refilled
Muffled cries of
pain escape from the sealed lips
As a drop or two
slips on to the blistered hands and legs
Working on the
moulds to create with finesse
Shushed into silence
by the hawk eyes
Following their
slightest deflection.
Innocence being
strangled and suffocated to near death
In the dreary and
scary dark dungeons
Bereft of even a
breath of fresh air and light
Slaughter-houses of
childhood and future citizens
Of this
ever-progressive world.
By – Vinita Surana 
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