The little girl

Today I came across a this beautiful girl in the bus to Thomas Istavan Utsa. What should I call her? The girl with hot chocolate dry hair, unpolished nails? Few where even broken at the edges. I could see the moon rising on one of her thumbnails. Maybe 11yr old. She looked thin……fragile. And that grew towards her eyes. I felt for my daughter. Such innocence wanes off with age. And this seemed a rare account.

Was she sad? Or kind? She was beautiful in anyways. Have I come across gentler people? I wonder. I felt like hugging her, cupping her face and telling her ‘betu, give me those hands, I’ll mend them for you. Let me braid those plain locks. Not, if you like them so. And give you a glass of water. It will help those chapped lips and dry skin. You know you feel like my daughter. And daughters are to be cherished and loved and kept well. May you get the best of a nights sleep. Your tender heart find its true love. And you have the best of meal every night. Bless you dear, feeling innocence is rare. May you live around people who are capable of acknowledging this attribute. Love you. Amen.”

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