Tender footsteps fall
On the porch outside his house;
The child looks around in wonder,
Taking everything in with a sweeping glance;
He respects what he sees
Yet feels a strange anonymity within him;
The voice that resounds within is not his own.
He feels estranged and stranded.
Not quite able to comprehend what to do next
Or how to take in this situation;
The child moves then to the garden,
Where he sees many plants,
And thorns under his feet
Which he learns to carefully avoid,
He wanders from tree to tree and shrub to shrub
Blissfully lost but in the search for something
When a voice calls him back home;
He turns around, and in a shrug
Forgets what he was searching for.
With a smile he comes back home
And notices there is something to eat on offer, on a plate.
He gobbles it readily and runs back into the garden
Leaving the plate behind;
He is quickly reprimanded for his mistake,
Of which he had no idea of committing and
Unwillingly, obeys and puts the plate back inside.
He does not understand why he was asked to do so,
He runs back out into the garden
And climbs a tree;
He sits on it and listens to the birds chirping and the sun
Shining through the canopy,
He makes patterns with his eyes
Askew and out of focus,
He tries different means to entertain himself.
He dreams of being a cricketer,
Of being the best in the world,
And showing everyone how skilled he is.
He takes a stick and swings it and traces the trajectory
Of a ball that has gone miles into the stands
With the commentator all in a flurry;
He returns home victorious, covered in mud,
Clothed in a vest and a Lungi;
He expects a hero’s welcome
And pretends to receive an obliging nod from his father;
He sleeps without a care in the world,
The dream still running amok in his mind
And a clock ticks, surely but surely
Towards a conclusion, which just as surely
Awaits him.
