Below sherbets and between the barbies
lingered in me, a mashed paper.
Scribbled in it , were cursive words ,
beautiful but messed in chaos.
Among the lits of lamps and sugar of candies,
the first time these lil kid’s entrenched words faded the lit
and bittered the sugar.
On my wooden body, the clammy sheet developed goosebumps and a
loss of vigour.
‘walking down an aisle
with heads down.
Oh I see my golden crown
The optimist lenses no more matches eye maa.
The dancing feet shivers maa.
I fear their dusty hands.
I fear their smutty clans.
I fear their laughter maa.
I fear them, more than I love gobstoppers maa.’
~ cried the crushed paper waiting for the sulk of fear to reach maa.