Playpen

They talk and talk Running in circles Trying to make sense Of what they have, between the two of them. They both have a lot of baggage, I suppose Old wounds that haven’t entirely healed Memories that tug at them when they indulge in reminiscence Tears they have never shed, anger they have never expressed. They are a bit like wary children, Meeting for the first time across a playpen Wanting to play, but cautious too Awkward and shy, not sure what will happen If he isn’t good at peek-a-boo Doesn’t like to color the flowers pink and blue And many such things which she likes to do. Or worse yet, what if he is mean and a bully? Pulls her pigtails and makes her cry Destroys her drawing, draws a mustache on her pretty butterfly? So she is cautious, and quiet as a mouse Peering at him through her lashes, too shy to tell him to come close. He, on the other hand, tries to look bored and impressive And like he has done this a million times Like he knows a lot, lot more than he actually does The alphabet, the spelling of his name, songs and rhymes. He has met girls before; and thought they were silly Squealed too much, wore clothes that were too frilly. This girl was no different; she wore a pink bow and carried a dumb doll But there was something about her, which made him think girls weren’t so bad after all. She, on the other hand, had never talked to a boy before Nor had she ever wanted to Boys were aliens to her, those loud sweaty things Who eat their nose boogies, and always have something naughty to do. But this boy, with his big floppy bunny ears; Something in his voice and his laugh, too Made her want to sit next to him, and pat his hand when he got a boo-boo. So they sit, on far ends of the playpen, sneaking peeks at each other, Making up their minds to ask the other to play together And changing their minds the next instant- Maybe it’s not a good idea to be so blatant. Maybe they will become friends, before the bell rings, before the day is over Or maybe they will be strangers forever. However it turns out, they will be okay Because that is children’s way- They always end up finding someone with whom to play. Neither of them knows how they feel about each other Or if anything at all All they know is that they want the other to stick about At least long enough for them to figure it out. So that is the story, of two grown-up children Trying to make life happen Reaching out for something that looks golden But then again Even if it they end up mistaken, They’ll eventually find the right person Somewhere in this big wide playpen.