Out at birth,
into two pairs of loving hands,
who would shield and protect you till the end of the world.
Can I get wings, you ask, and fly around to explore a little?
You are frowned down upon.
But I will be back, where will I go?
But the stern nod of the head, won’t allow it.
The wings itch nevertheless.
Nervous and excited for change and colour.
Can I have a canvas of my own, you ask, and splash what I want on it?
There is a amused smile, which says, sure but some symmetry won’t hurt.
Then, somewhere down the road, which you are hopping about on,
the clouds part and the knight appears.
Only to realize many a moons later,
that the shine was never really there.
You trundle back in search of those two pairs of loving hands,
whose warmth and comfort is unmatched,
by even the sun’s eternal glory.
Words are floating in the nooks and corners of your mind,
you search for some paper and ink,
and without a blink,
sit down to write about the life on loan,
which goes on and on.