The Doll

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I remember the doll

I was once gifted on my birthday.

She had the saddest of smile there ever was.

She was caged in a lone, cold, marble, glass bottle.

When I shook it,

snow used to fall on her

and I could see her shiny tears,

shining like pearls in her eyes.

She used to sing under the moonlight,

a melancholy melody.

With that beautiful voice of hers

the whole creatures in the fairy land used to come

to listen to the sweetest of the nightmares she had survived through.

She used to sit at the top of my cabin

and tell her tale of woe.

There was a unique pathos in her voice

that brought tears to every listening eyes.

One restless night I heard her maudlin song,

there was a unique sorrow, a unique beauty in that mournful song

that made my heart weep.

She stood on the banks of that frozen stream

and sang a solitary song that made everyone wonder

about the miseries she went through.

Her eyes showed a lonely path

which, once, she often used to travel.

Her mind wandered about that path,

always searching for the one who left her alone.

Oh! How her melody touched one’s heart

but also broke it at the same time.

Once, as I came home from school

I saw that cold, lone, glass broken on the floor.

That white, solitary, defeated doll was shattered on the ground,

and for the first time I saw

an actual gleeful smile.

She was finally free from her body of sins

and now her soul could fly to reach the unlimited sky,

she always wanted to sing in.

And even now I could hear her sing,

a beautiful, joyful song

that made every heart feel gay.

 

 

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