Description
Two sisters, born of the same light, Now sleep in homes that split the night. One with mother, one with dad, A silent war-no one called it bad. Years rolled by like quiet rain, Each drop a memory, each one pain. They tried to stitch what time had torn, In hope that love could be reborn. The younger held her mother's side, The elder learned to let things slide. One was silence, one was voice, Both were caught without a choice. Their father, fierce-a fire untamed, Loved his kin, yet left hearts maimed. Spoke not a word to the younger face, For siding with her mother's grace. Still the elder hoped and tried, Held her tears, though often cried. She bridged the gap, she fought the storm, To bring a family back to form. And one day, like a distant dream, A word was spoken-a softened stream. The father turned, and saw her there, The younger child with wounded stare. He spoke at last, but hearts still sore, The home not whole, like once before. Parents distant, lost in pride, Children aging, torn inside. They learned to smile with lips pressed tight, To keep the peace, not start a fight. For in this war of love and rage, The children bore the truest cage.
BY Vanshika
