Skip to main content

Get out of that Cocoon

In all appearances, of course,
I am a man full-grown.
Then again, as they say
appearances are deceptive.

For in me there are
at the same time:
a child, a grown up
and even an old man.

The old man makes me think.
Made old by the burden
of experience and knowledge.
(All still within the classroom yet).

The grown up makes me
...um he makes me survive.
Compete, contest, strive,
to use a cliche:
run in the rat race.

But it is the child
I like the most.
He is the one
that makes me
want to live.
Really live.

To enjoy
the rain, the flowers,
the smell of wet earth.
To watch and wonder
at the industrious ants,
the caterpillar, the rat even.

He goes around tying rakhis
for raksha bandhan.
He'll send you
an eclair
(or better, a rose)
in that first burst
of youthful love.
He's the one
that will be optimistic
about giving his heart
and getting another in exchange.

He is the one inside me,
that really does all the living.
The old man's cynicism,
the grown up's
...er...grownupism -
all that is just a shell.
A shell to stay alive in.

But that guy there,
and you, and me.
We all are just our childhoods
bottled up
in our pupae - aren't we?

I don't know about others.
I am going to cast off my cocoon.
I'm going to remain a child forever.
Do you want to join in?

Let's. Let's do.
All that we no longer do.
Let's play again
at what we want to be.
Firemen, engine-drivers, pilots.
Not doctors or chartered accountants.

Lets have birthdays
with toys and new clothes.
red day and green day and purple day
and eclair day and friendship day.

So here's the child in me
calling to the child in you:
Let's get a life again!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

बर्फी की शादी - बालकविता

बर्फी के घर में शादी है, दुल्हा उसका लड्डू है, माला उसकी किशमिश है, चूडी उसकी काजू है, बादाम उसकी बाली है, चाँदी की उसकी चुनरी है! यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Sunday is...

...a late morning, a tumbler of degree coffee, a birthday greeting to a friend (thank God for Facebook), another tumbler of coffee... ...a hot water bath, catching up on weekly politics, rice and bitter-gourd curry with jeera rasam and pickle, a long unhad siesta... one murukku made from old rice, ground by hand and made in coconut oil, one piece of jangri - not too sweet - washed down with hot degree coffee... a walk with the dog drongo-spotting in the garden, and old family stories with mother under the jamun tree... ...a little poem, a bit of light reading, and an interesting online chat on the Dhammapada... ...and finally an ascent to heaven with curd rice and vadu-mangay, before the fall to the netherworld of Monday.