The Bright Gloom Poem by Aniket Pande

Little inexperienced hands, small and shy;

Looking naïve and dirty, maybe that’s how they are.

Small nonplussed eyes staring still;

Corners and lashes thick with the certain dreams of before night.

Not at all white, not too black but bleak face,

Lacking any grace.

Mind confused how to react,

Lips glued with the fear of far,

So tight they are.



So early he woke up every morning; from the dreams of night and wonderlands,

The right and wrong he was made to understand,

May be the innocence couldn’t suffice the need for sacrifice,

This reality was made to realize.

That shoulder’s over burdened with too much love and care,

They were too young and weak to become an adult.



The eyes never opened wide; the eyelids were so sad.



The feet’s were afraid to stride a new path,

The hands were afraid to touch something new,

May be that is why he was never walked to school,

May be that is why he never held pencil in his hand.



He wanted to yell,

Why was he in this hell?

But tongue was too heavy,

It wouldn’t even dare to speak,

Time and love made it weak, very weak.

Never did he yell,

Never did anybody tell,

Why he and the other millions are still,

Surviving in the world so unjust, so altered, so malevolent and so ill.



The soul was chained and locked,

The key couldn’t be found,

For the life he was bound,

In the Abaddon he was born; only thing he was blessed and cursed with.



For us, his life is his destiny, or

Something he chooses for himself.

For us, the world is still calm and cool,

Nobody cares, for he still has to live in the bright gloom.