What must be
the searing pain,
Of a child
abandoned at birth,
Maybe at the
hospital, or at an orphanage,
A dustbin,
the roadside, dirty gutter or worse?
For no fault
of the infant,
For reasons
of gender, rape, poverty
Recklessness
in love.
Or whatever
reason unknown to us.
That question
of ‘why’
Constantly
jabbing at the heart
The dull pain
stinging
The tears
long dried up.
The glorious
fables of parents
Familial
bonding and sibling love
Sharp in
contrast
To what gets
doled out.
Holding on
tight, suffocating free thought
Or far from
near, bereft of warmth
The child
struggling to be
Or pining for
what’s not.
Family,
parents
Ties that
bind and gag
Too lose or
too tight,
A
disconcerting noose nonetheless.
Some hold on
too long
Some let go
too soon
The sweet
spot of balance
Very few do
choose.
The kite let
loose
Goes with the
wind
Dipping and
rising
With no
purpose or direction.
Held tight by
the string
The kite
pulls towards the open sky
Never having
tasted freedom
It believes
that’s life.
Loosen the
strings
And watch
from aside
Glow in the
fact
That your
child’s soaring high.
The child
with no strings at all
The child
held on too tight
Neither is
better off
Unless allowed to fly free in the sky.
