To the one lost, with love

The screen blinked blue and red on the living room wall,
Showing that smile once bright now blurred by the blast.
Tom stopped chasing Jerry—time for breaking news instead,
Little Snow White had a smile in ash smudged dread.

Millions marched with signs and shouts from oceans away,
Hashtags joined her name like a virtual prayer every day.
But does she know, with her single milk tooth,
That the world now mourns her stolen youth?

The colours that once made her ceiling glow,
Now melt with the afterglow.
She used to count stars with a whisper and a grin,
Now she counts the blasts and how long silence sits within.

Her favourite candyman is sitting idly on the lawn chair,
By the flower lady—hands clasped for a prayer no God heard.
The last bedtime story stays at the table
With the final order of coffee to go.

She asked her mama once, “What does eva-cu-ate mean?”
Her mama smiled and hugged her tight,
“The government wants us to play a long game of hide-and-seek.”
A smile still bright she said, “We’ll win mama. I always win the game!”

The air whispers stories in unfamiliar tongues,
The wind visible,
Birthing fire from the sparks that rained—
From the strange metal cloud.
The teddy bear is forgotten,
On the footpath near the toy store.
The doll’ missing an arm—like Uncle Joe from the 10th floor.

She once counted stars that could glow in the dark,
Now she maps exits when the sirens bark.
Papa once spoke of a kingdom “Once Upon a time”
She wonders if papa will ever return to finish the “Happily ever…”
“Mama look I am like Cinderella” she said,
Pointing to the picture of Cinderella
Greyed in ash left by the fire in its wake.
She hasn’t heard the word “politics”,
She doesn’t understand “refugee”,
But she remembers the taste of fear.
She remembers how the sky turned red and thunder spoke for the first time.
She doesn’t know what “freedom” is
Or how important her “rights” are,
But she can draw a home—
split apart.

“Will you make a cake for me, mama? It is my Birthday”
“Will you sing to me, sister?”
She wanted the smell of cake and wishes again,
Not the sirens that shredded her morning prayers.
She once feared bedtime monsters,
Those who lived behind the closet door,
Now she fears the morning more.