Muffled

Eight year old Myra

Was an extraordinary girl;

She’d recite all the alphabets

While giving her hair a twirl.

But, Eight year old Myra

Was quite naughty as well;

She’d go door to door, and run

After pressing on the bell.

Yet, Eight year old Myra

Was loved by one and all,

Even grumpy old Kumar,

Who’s still got our ball.

For Eight year old Myra

Was smiling all the time,

Her chubby cheeks were always pink

With a gentle smile sublime.

Now, Eight year old Myra

Was once invited upstairs,

By the kindly old landlord,

Nearing the end of his affairs.

So, Eight year old Myra

Was happy as could be,

To go and hear a tale or two

Reigning atop his knee.

Indeed, Eight year old Myra

Was not disappointed,

As he told her many a story

And her head with sleep anointed.

Grandfather, Grandfather

That’s enough for today, please;

Now hold me in your loving arms

And let me sleep in peace.

Grandfather, Grandfather

What are you tickling me for?

You’re barely being gentle,

It’s not as fun as before.

Grandfather, Grandfather,

I no longer feel at ease,

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Don’t touch me there please,

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Can’t you see my troubled brow?

Grandfather, Grandfather,

You’re scaring me now.

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Where’s your love and care,

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Please don’t touch me there.

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Your eyes have lost their gleam,

Grandfather, Grandfather,

Stop or I will screa-

A hand over her mouth,

A slap across her cheek,

Made sure she couldn’t make a sound

Save the occasional, painful squeak.

An evil mind,

A leering smile,

A hand that did

Her soul defile.

And her eyes pleaded for help, but in vain,

As she flailed and tussled,

For they fell upon a soulless pair,

As her voice lay muffled.

Eight year old Myra

Wasn’t smiling anymore

As she fled, limping and crying,

Out of her Hell’s door.

Yet, Eight year old Myra

Was still brave enough

To confess to her parents

Of the old man’s bluff.

Ashamed, perhaps,

Or perhaps fearing his tenants,

The old man climbed down

And apologised to the parents.

A simple apology

For all the pain she endured,

A simple apology

For her trust that couldn’t be cured.

A simple apology

That stabbed her like a knife,

A simple apology

For scarring her life.

But Myra’s parents decided,

After some debate,

To accept the apology

And make peace with her fate.

For the sake of her name-

For the sake of theirs too,

For the sake of their honour-

For the sake of hers too.

And Eight year old Myra

Like millions before

Had her loved ones ensure her voice

Lay muffled forevermore.