• ink_o_vert 10w


    In a pragmatic world
    This quixotic child holds no place
    Dates and anniversaries
    Remembers not the child
    Nor the difference between
    Teal and sea green.

    Don't know if his leaving home like this
    Would affect anyone
    Don't know if the journey is heading towards destination
    Or is it a trick to lead him astray
    And will the child be as prepared as Hansel
    To leave crumbs along the way?
    Will the birds and the ants not take them away this time?

    The woods cut not into two paths
    To have proudly said, 'I took the one less travelled by'
    Brown is sugar and so is bread
    The child chomps it hastily
    To a point where he knows eating is Only to get by.
    While he lies down and falls asleep
    He sees pink, little tiny ribbons
    Flying in the wind and his sister
    Running around trying to catch them
    And throwing it back
    Cause' the fun is in the game
    And not in collecting and keeping it.

    Smiling, he wakes upto darkness and crickets singing
    "Mom, mom", he wails
    "Dad!!" And "mom" and more weeping
    Looking around, seeking for attention
    Wobbles a step or two and falls
    And nobody seems to be there
    Except for the void and fear