Genie

In one window was sky, in the other, a wall;

But for feeding or beating, no contact at all.

On the potty by day, in the crib every night --

A monotonous cycle of darkness and light.

For a healthy young child, thirteen years in a cell

Must have felt much the same as forever in hell.

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

She had never drawn pictures, played tag, dressed a doll,

Celebrated a birthday, raked leaves in the fall;

No-one told her a story or sang her a song.

Other tortures could not make the days feel as long.

Oh, what greater injustice could ever occur

Than the cruel deprivation that happened to her?

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

May it be, while she slept, she escaped her small hold;

That she flew with the fairies through gardens of gold;

That she named her pet pony and danced before crowds

Under showers of candy that fell from the clouds;

That she feasted on meals whose best parts were dessert;

That she had kind companions who wept when she hurt;

That she laughed with her parents who hugged and caressed;

And that heavenly choirs rhapsodised her to rest.

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

Oh, a billion strong heartbeats, a million small breaths...

Can a person remember what she can't express?

If we don't know "alone", can we feel loneliness?

We shall never know surely; we'll just have to guess.

She's not able to tell us; she can't write or speak.

She knows nothing of sign language, Latin, or Greek.

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

We all hope that, at least, she could dream.

May it be, while she slept, she escaped her small hold;

That she flew with the fairies through gardens of gold;

That she named her pet pony and danced before crowds

Under showers of candy that fell from the clouds;

That she feasted on meals whose best parts were dessert;

That she had kind companions who wept when she hurt;

That she laughed with her parents who hugged and caressed;

And that heavenly choirs rhapsodised her to rest.

I pray, God, that, at least, she could dream.