The Broken Boy

by on September 28, 2011 :: 0 comments

Tonight I will spread the anxious flowers on the summer bed, expecting smiles rooting out in the pale morning.
This bed specially made from the trees of Nagarkot
Promises a good night rest (mommy told to never trust strangers),
I check the wardrobe to fetch fertilizers and seeds
Hurriedly, happily believing the angels protest in heavens
To ascend and sleep on this magnificent bed,
The bed turns to the guest and whispers,
‘You’re to sleep with me tonight’
The guest jumps like a happy calf
Thinking of the ascending angels,
Past 12 the bed is full of guests
With whom is the bed mingling?

The angels claim the bed to be theirs
The guest proves mathematically that everything is his: one plus one equals to one,
The bugs, cloths, coverings deny the claim

Around 3 a.m.
The bed transforms into a small boy with three candies between his innocent fingers
Runs toward the mommy forever
Forever he runs (mommy told to never trust strangers)
And that’s what he’s been doing

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