The dark hours she spent,
Staring at the family photograph,
Smiling at the familiar faces,
Craving for the good old laughs.
“I’m there in the middle”,
Whispered a marred heart,
Those faces were so captivating,
The picture was a fine art.
Her lonely gaze deepened,
As the reality emerged strong,
The child in her was fooled,
But she couldn’t hold long.
Her mother’s love had scarred her,
The tender touch was savage,
Her father was a REAL man,
but his daughter was born damaged.
Her body was a masterpiece,
Engraved with words of gold,
But those carved by her family,
Ran deeper through her soul.
Finally, one blessed night,
She fell numb under the moonlight,
Carelessly dreaming of love,
Leaving the collapsed body behind.
Just then a thought pierced my mind,
Will they ever try to find?
The child from the photograph,
Who went missing one night.
A poem on Child Abuse
