The Little Boy
The pungent smell of phenyl,
wafted through the corridor.
The white uniforms floated by
Their eyes, detached and dazed,
but focused on their work.
The row of beds looked all the same,
covered in blue sheets and pillows.
Colorful drawings and streamers
hung on the dull white walls.
But, the air was filled with
the smell of savage death.
There, in the corner of the room
On the iron bed sat he,
On his lap lay his sketches,
He always loved to draw.
A needle pierced his tiny wrist.
His lean frame looked as though
All the life has been sucked out.
Suddenly he lifted his head
And I saw two curious eyes-
Eyes full of life watching me;
A tiny smile spread on his lips.
Unperturbed about his fate,
When death will come uninvited
To nip his life in the bud.
Sunday Scribblings: Brave.