Mind Mine
The child in me stands out, often, rudely,
Shocking me; shaking me; threatening me;
Questioning all foundations and traditions,
Rites, rituals, routines, convictions...
Sometimes like logical philosopher,
Sometimes like ancient saintly foreteller;
Sometimes like wild rough, rude beastly creature,
Provokes thoughts on life with its true feature...
It's in such character transformation,
Assumed the form of child in transition;
Finding enchantments all over the earth,
Felt fascination for her very birth...
This little girl, my inner child, asks me,
To tell stories on butterflies, fancy;
Might be owing my mood, then, anger-filled,
There's once one, I said, it's dead and got burred...
This made commotion on the child within,
Butterflies have appositely term thin;
Why don't we, at least, in our stories give,
Greater life-span and make them to long live...
26 January 2022
Copyright © Christuraj Alex | Year Posted 2022
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