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Sometimes, the simplest lines carry the most depth. Here is a beautiful poem about the lessons time teaches us.
Then
I bruised my forehead
Rushed to the hospital
For stitches that stung
So terrible, I cried
I was seven.
Now
I shrieked, as it hurt
And didn’t seem to cease
In agony I lay
More than a day
To push a human out
I was thirty one.
I fell ill
Missed an exam
Sobbed at having lost
My chance to a glorious future
That, on my mind I had etched
I was fifteen.
I worked
Behind a desk
Waiting for the two days,
I could forget what I did
Often doubtful,
But still hoped
It will all mean something,
One day
I was twenty five.
When my throat got a knot,
A teddy bear swallowed my tears
He said he’d die for me
I believed
He’s lying to you, said Dad
I left him
And grieved for months
I was eighteen.
We stay up all night
Tacitly taking turns
To hold the little one
When he whimpers
And can’t say
Where it hurts,
And how much
I am thirty three.
Dad was strong
Mom stood upright
Together they fought the world
To shelter me,
Under their wings
I sulked to break free
I was a child.
They are wearied
In empty nest,
Anticipate my visit
Rubbing their eyes,
Under metal rimmed glasses
I long to return home
I am a worrying Mom, myself.
Pain was something else
Like the world was going to end
Like it will never get better
Like it can never get any worse
Pain is different
Like it is here to stay
As a constant companion
Like however big,
It will always be smaller
Than me.
Pic credit: Camera Eye Photography (Used under a CC license)
Originally published at the author’s blog.
Shivangi is the author of the hilarious yet compelling book 'I made a booboo', published by Rupa and available worldwide. She also co-authored a travel anthology on Netherlands, titled 'Dutched up' that featured among read more...
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