LILY

As I asked the little girl

Who were there at home

She replied candidly

‘’Father, Mother, Brother-Mustafa

And me Lily.’’

I tried to be precise ’’who were, not are…”

“No, no they are. They are there in the grave !”

There was a sudden quake

The earth shook

Now they are there.”

“Yes, so they are dead, now.” I tried to correct

“No, they aren’t dead. They still talk with me.

You are incorrect.” I was chided

I left the refugee camp, embittered & pained

Thinking about her only

Amidst all the debris of the catastrophe

She was beaming like an enchanting “LILY”.