When a kid takes his first steps,

Parents and others applaud.

When a kid draws his first drawing,

Shabby as it is, beautiful it is seen.

When a child brings home a prize, his trophy,

The house gets lighted up in appreciation.

Why then,

When we grow up,

When the kid is older, much older,

People around him ignore and joke,

Or give but a cursory glance when he

Does what his heart but wills?

Does something so beautiful,

And true,

And Meaningful too.


Why then is it that,

For his efforts,

His time and thought and effort,

Little or much ado never is done?


Slowly he sees,

And understands it, aye.

The next day he goes and shuts it all,

He enters reality;

He works and earns.

All is well, for,

People deem it fit,

Him fit for them to talk to.


That small window,

full of light and charm,

Truth and beauty,

That he had tried, tried so hard to show us,

Is now closed to us.

All he wanted was

A slight cheer,

A few smiles,

And a few acknowledgments couldn’t hurt.

Now does he live

But a hypocrite.

Hypocrisy doesn’t become him,

He is guilt laden

And cuts another sorry figure.

He who had seen

That tiny flicker of hope

And was willing enough to share

With us and all.

Closed to him too

It is.

There went our last hope,

Now we are truly alone.

Without that little flicker,

Nay, he can’t sustain.

Try as he may,

Give up he shall.

If there would

An Atlas shrugged like situation

For dreamers and such

Disappeared he would have in but a sniff.

Cruel and cruelty he perceives

And soon, too late, he lets go.


In that last fraction,

Just before the transition,

He sees it.

That tiny flicker that

Alone bespoke warmth;

Warmth in this lonely abode.




One thought on “CLINGING ON

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