The Circus

The Circus long poem

Uploaded by Anagha Srikumar

All I could hear were the deafening roars of the crowd at the show stopping moment,
when everything got silent.
The smell of something burning reached my nose, but I decided to ignore it.
“Fire!” a voice screeched.
Get up! Move! Run!
My legs were paralyzed as I consciously pushed myself towards the exit.
That’s when I saw it.
A massive orange flame emerged from the corner of the tent and was approaching its prey.
It spread rapidly as if we were it source of entertainment: it’s personal hide and seek game.
My unstable legs escaped my seat as they guided me to the door, but something wasn’t right.
Then I heard it, a faint cry, a cry for help, crawling into my ears.
It seemed to be getting louder and louder, but the source was unknown.
The exit grew larger and larger as the top started curving in and slanting downwards.
I tried to force the exit to open, but it refused to budge, smiling cruelly and mocking me silently.
An ear shattering wail emerged from outside of the tent.
“Honey! Where are you?!” the lady cried over and over again.
Harder! Move! Go! The exit just would not budge.
The faint cries of the child I almost forgot about neared my ears drastically.
As I finally turned my head,
I saw him.
His arms were burnt, his ears were bloody, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.
My hand met his small fingers when the exit finally decided to spare me freedom.
The hot pavement quickly kissed my left cheek as I tried to pull for him.
It was too late.
The tent collapsed right on him, he was gone.
All that was left for my vision was his tiny, frail arm, trying to reach for freedom.
The screaming lady sprinted the tent and held the arm tightly.
“My son,” she choked.
My heart sank to my stomach as I realized it was my fault.
It was my fault he couldn’t get free, my fault his mother was in pain.
It was my fault he wouldn’t live a long life ahead of him, it was my fault I was too late.
Now the cries of little boy was all I could hear.

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