Were they children of
A loving Joint family
In a small village of
Of God's own country
Were they twelve in
Numbers of boys and girls
Making it a festival
In times of togetherness
Not a single day
They make a war
Having together
Their all day food
In a small dining room
Filling it with loud
Crackers of laughter
Enjoying even a
A watery porridge with
Fried coconut chutney
Together they slept
In an open night hall
Sharing their beds
And pillows with love
Seeing them sleeping
With their innocence
Standing the moon
With a sweet smile !