They were born of glass four shards in bloom,
A boy, two girls, then dusk’s last plume.
A house once held their laughter tight,
Till fate collided wrong with right.
Steel kissed steel, and silence screamed,
Two souls erased, two dreams unseamed.
The cradle cracked, the walls grew thin,
And strangers bought the blood within.
One sold to silk, one sold to shame,
One wore a badge, one lost his name.
They wandered near, yet knew not kin,
Their roots erased beneath their skin.
A mother’s love, a borrowed lie,
A party mask, a hollow eye.
She danced for men who broke her grace,
While daughters drowned in silent space.
One touched by hands that should not dare,
One blamed for truth too raw to bear.
One drove the wheel, one wore the crown,
Yet none could see the blood run down.
The eldest searched with fractured breath,
To stitch the seams of scattered death.
But destiny, that cruel disguise,
Kept every answer veiled in lies.
They should have grown in garden light,
But bloomed in shadow, out of sight.
One moment tore their world apart
A crash, a cry, a shattered heart.
So let us hold what time can break,
Each breath, each bond, for memory’s sake.
For life’s a thread, not iron-spun
And glassborn souls can still outrun
The silence.
This poem traces the aftermath of a family torn apart by tragedy — a crash that shattered not just bodies, but identities, futures, and the fragile threads of belonging. It explores how trauma disperses lives into roles, masks, and silence, while one soul searches to stitch the scattered pieces. A meditation on memory, loss, and the quiet rebellion of glassborn resilience.
