The Pretty, Little Doll

By Samruddhi Vinod Ghumare

Who owns the doll? I guess I know.

Her landlady is sad.

It is a tale of woe,

I watched her frown. I cried hello.

But it's all about show and glow

She gives her doll a shake,

And sob till the tears break.

The only other sound is a break,

Of distant waves and birds awake.

It's lovely, alive, profound and deep,

But she got commitments to keep,

Until then she won't sleep.

She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

She stands up out of her bitter bed,

With grievous thoughts in her head,

She idolizes being dead.

Facing the day with never-ending dread.

By Samruddhi Vinod Ghumare