The Bright Gloom
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 ...