The kid beside me is peeking glances,
Afraid to walk alone,
strongly holding his mother's hand,
And following her steps.
The kid i saw was so pure,
Lovely and unsure.
His mother didn't like seeing dirty clothes ,
she guided him so strictly so not to struggle,
She took him through the pathways she knew,
He kept on following.
The kid i saw is growing up,
And making things up,
Curious about the pathways his mother didn't knew,
And he didn't get to see,
Hesitating about which pathway worth taking the risk,
And how few,
are the people who took the road,
Have ended up with smirks .
The same kid is now grown,
After years, still hesitating,
About those pathways,
Because his mother,
The one he unconditionally trusts,
Told him all other pathways are made with fire,
And the one she knew is always the brighter ..
YOU ARE READING
Surviving
PoetryShe wanted to survive so she created art. It's not a roman but kind of a short essay. It's about silence and noise, about introverts being forced to extroversion, about the little secret of an introvert. It's simply about a life among billions. All...
