I, The Broken…

a poem by Christuraj Alex

A balloon colorful, beautiful yet fragile,
Had what been given to me in the form of life;
I liked it; loved it; cherished it; made it agile,
Lived it fully, happy whole with my loving wife…

More than job or money or wealth or power best,
I had dreamt of a family great heavenly;
Whole souls sober just like that of a sparrow’s nest,
Gazing through my wife’s eyes gave feelings divinely…

Of all relations, I have cherished here on earth,
I loved my little daughter who’d been my princes;
Dear little beautiful butterfly with great mirth,
She had been the joy of greatest of all riches…

She painted flowers smiling like stars of the sky,
Birds of her crayons seemed as though ready to fly;
Her laughter, like silver streams, falling from so high,
Her queries, like wells so deep, never seemed to dry…

It was then I did not know where the call came from,
Encephalitis, the doctor said, O, what curse!
Why should my child suffer something that made her numb?
Why should fate pick on a little saint so much worse?

Years have passed yet my pains have never gone at all,
Emptiness like a dark room seems to fill my mind;
Heart, broken; mind, restless; to her, I always call,
Having all yet my soul lost no solace I find…