Orphans stop waiting

It comes to me from time to time

that moment and that conversation –

a haunting weight I knew even then

would leave a heavier imprint

than one would’ve guessed.

She said to me at the library

as we worked on the art project

how orphans stop waiting

once they get used to the wait

She said she’d watched a documentary

about little abandoned ones

who shied away from human touch

and didn’t react even when hurt

She said it wasn’t so to begin with,

they were like other kids when they came in;

they cried a lot, and played with toys

and fought when they coveted attention

She said, the moment it swung open, creaking,

they turned immediately towards the door-

looked up, expectant, wide eyed, agape

unaware of their precious dolls on the floor

She said, after a few months in there

solitude was their only solace

their dolls the only recipients of their care

and tears shed only when someone threatened that peace

She said orphans stop waiting,

or looking towards the door

they know that no one’s coming

once they’ve lived there some more.

Say, what is family but a guarantee of love?

functional or not, we just need them to love

for most, years go by without any realisation

they squander the chance to show affection

The human soul needs love to survive 

it’s a candle in the wind

it hopes but only for a while

and flits and withers when no one’s coming

And orphans stop waiting,

or looking to the door,

‘Someday‘ keeps fading from the calendar,

so they hold on to the ‘now‘

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