ManicWorld Magazine

Muna had a doll.
The doll with a twisted leg, would sit errect,
her messy blond hair, hanging over her face
like Moses’ veil, but Moses saw God,
she saw nothing, absolutely nothing,
or so it seemed.
Her emotionless eyes, a betrayal
to her shinny red lip, spread in a constant smile.
Muna would place her on the table
and feel her lingering gaze, in the depth of the night
after all, she is the window,
mummy’s eyes, Muna’s mother used to say,
until her husband buried her, and gave Muna away.
Muna named the doll when it lost it’s good leg,
Pain, that is what she called her,
and Pain sat, smiling in the dim light,
as uncle Ben, malignant and spiteful
took Muna’s innocence, in drops of blood.
Muna packed Pain in an ugly box;
the one that held mummy’s photograph,
placed it under her bed in the dark,
where her eyes would remain shut for ever,
but pain like Annabelle, never sleeps.
Once upon a time, Muna had a doll.