Dogs howled in agony,

Crickets sang dirges in ceremonial voices,

Little Janie stood at the balcony,

Amidst the pleading noises,

Ready to call it quits, to life’s irony.


She had just turned eight,

Too young a soul to lose,

As she could no longer carry the weight,

Of the burden she bore in her shoes.


Her ego had been bruised,

And her innocence abused,

By a dad-turned-beast,

Whose humanity and love had long ceased.


Tonight she dreaded her life,

And loathed being her father’s wife,

The pain she bore in her young heart,

And the sorrow she carried in her skirt.


Her heart beat fast,

As dust prepared to return to dust,

The soul to its Maker,

The body to its Bringer.


Time was now, decision was set,

One, two, three… forever she’d rest,

But the God you’ll never know,

Was not ready to let go.


Jump she did,

From the height of the four storey,

Little did she know the life she wanted to rid,

Would forever be an inspirational story,

To millions she’d lead.


“Little” Janie turned forty today,

A heroine so widely celebrated,

The founder of God-Has-The-Final-Say,

From the gallows of death she’s lived,

To tell a tale of how she was saved.


As multitudes gather around her,

She smiles at her past, that left a scar,

And she alone understands too well,

That the God you’ll never know,

Remain the Director of a river’s flow.



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