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Small pieces of colored glass
A pair of trinkets
And postcards –
All coveted treasures of
Jana’s dreams.
Oh sweet Jana, little Jana
Holy cherub of soul pristine!
One amongst the swarm of angels,
Ricocheting between
The dusty alleys,
A jolly world at her playful feet
In sunny evening summer breeze.
Rosy child with rouge lips
Fragility of cotton candy
Coolness of popsicles
And hair like dark ebony.
What harm will this cherub inflict?
None,
One would say
For those soft curls don’t tell lies
Nor does sun lighting those eyes.
Her eyes –
A cradle of dreams
Those glossy dreams
Tiny dreams
Like dew drops
By night streams,
Yet untouched
By dirt and mud
Yet unnerved
By guns and blood.
Yet someday
The dirt will spatter
When the dew be trodden
By civilized men,
Yet someday
The guns will chatter
When the child be told off
By decorous men,
For, to men of honor
Jana is no different.
She’s as much a threat
As any other of her peculiar kind
An object of caution,
Shallow, unrefined.
A savage and a crude
In need of being renewed.
So she must vow her allegiance
And prove her worth
To undo the crime
Of her innocent birth.

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