his wings were chopped at an early age
he was just learning to stand up and live his life
the cricket grounds are still lively without him
but his ghost still lingers around watching everyone

what could've been, what he would've been
they all haunt him in middle of the night
what he has become now is the result of ignorance-
someone whose heart was bleeding but ignored each dawn

a ghost of a child at the playground
swinging on a swing
laughing and having fun

a ghost of a child at the playground
swinging on a swing
he was never found at local cemetery

priests went out in search
exorcists did their performance
but the child was swinging on a swing

he hid himself in the closet
whenever he heard the footsteps in the hall
and when that man was in the room
he would stare through the open cracks

he knew it at the age when others were in playgrounds
the fear of a man who called himself his father
but nothing like one and only a tyrant
a monster who bullied his own kids

he locked the door of his room
closing all entrances, even the windows
to stop the monster in his dreams
roaming in hall from coming in,

he locked the door of his room
placed a chair and sat under the table
the sound of footsteps was getting loud
he just sat there talking to his toys

he locked the door of his room
he just stared at the pendulum bob
writing apologies on unsent letters
waiting for the footsteps to pass

she was too innocent to understand anything
too small to differ between love and pain
so she learned to express what she felt

she would lock herself in room with her dolls
and take out crayons and began to draw
a mother, a child and a man with big hands

sitting on the dinner table
where instead of food, he was served cold
silence turned into words that hurt

sitting on the dinner table
he was served disappointment from others
who questioned his existence

sitting on the dinner table
his father made a loud thump on the table
spewed out his hate he always keep close

he is always mad at his own child
for the stones that come his way
but his child will forever be grateful
for what he has done for him

he is always mad at his own child
the one he raised under his roof
to make him into a man, only to
crush him under his own trauma

now grown into an adult
he wishes to run away to a place
where land stretches upwards into hills and peaks
and there are valleys to jump into