Children in their Innocence can be so Cruel
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Children in their Innocence can be so Cruel *-Meesha Kaw |
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Children in their innocence can be so cruel
This scrawny, frightened boy on his way to school Children in their innocence can be so cruel He walked with his head neglecting the sky And the clouds, the life, the sun up high They taunted, they laughed costing him fright Gawking at the boy like he was a criminal in their sight He yearned for a person, perhaps not so cruel To quench his loneliness, as he sat on a lonely stool Children in their innocence can be so cruel And when the innocence takes its leave Many horrors in life then fatefully reveal The irony, the mystery, the cruelty of the Mind Since my memory serves me My shadow has always left behind a trace of disappointment It lingers in the eyes of Others like a bitter taste One weakness accepted, however, one too many weakness Question my survival There are gifts He so generously has sent from the palace of stars Yet at times I close my eyes and there is something more I desire Everything is there, everything we desire However, some are just more evident than others My soul is still in rhythm with the ground I have not flown, I have not excelled Fear and insecurity had become a priority Failure comes as a second nature I am good, I am good I am accepted, no that I am not I have been challenged; I have tried these challenges I am undefeated, no that I am not So, I wonder at times, when I’m feeling nocturnal When will the light follow the dark? When will be soul stand in rhythm with life? When I’ll construct a name, when I have bathed in fame Fame so immaterial that one feels satisfied, quenched With charity, with compassion, with a love very blind It was cruel, but I did perpetrate the act I read words that were not meant for my eyes I felt a shortness of breath, a wicked pain in my chest Those words anesthetized me, but I could still feel The bitter taste of a fusion of insanity and reality The aroma of these words lingered within the walls of my mind Like the pungent fumes of what fire burns The smoke raped my lungs, I feel cold and clamy I gasped for explanations, I hungered for empathy These words she wrote were quixotic, amorous, forbidden These words she wrote were patented by me, my duty, and my commitment She was the God forsaken tempest that swayed him from the ground She was an illusion of me I was told in attempts to be consoled The mirror did not bequeath me a similar consolation I asked him to bestow me with some silence, some distance A needle prick of solace, respect, importance in these numb veins But he held on with such affection, it was rather torturous Soon he buried her in the past; he buried the illusion of me As we lay together with a somber need to feel ones touch Entangled so tightly, mesmerized the comfort not yet lost in each others arms He whispered warm promises of love, his eyes drowned in tears Strained with crimson ribbons, strained with regret But the dead have ghosts, the dead have ghosts And dead memories have ghosts, dead memories have ghosts She haunts me ever so gently, even when my conscience is asleep Because I so unintentionally, imparted my diamond to her Now that her neediness is one with the rhythm of the past I have been blessed with that diamond once more Yet to unite hurts as much as the nightmares of being apart… He was the scrawny boy Whose deep, rich cocoa eyes touched me Ironically they were starved of sweetness I promised him one Holy night I would exile his sadness someday I desired to be the sugar, the panacea For all the scars and immortal pain But once I spoke of our love in vain But once I fell a human and made a mistake I feared that this good love was too strong in its perfection That if condemned and absent, it would turn our spirits to ashes Like those birds in Florence; one drowned in poison, the other took a dagger Once I wished I hadn’t found the diamond under the rainbow For it danced with me a dance of passion, too forward for innocence The Man living in the Palace of Stars listened to my guilty confession He took one sorrow away, that which I felt for dancing the dance of passion But to pay the debt of ungratefulness, He bestowed me another… Children in their innocence can be so cruel. |
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| Also read following poems from Meesha |
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Meesha Kaw |
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