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