Children in their Innocence can be so Cruel

Children in their Innocence can be so Cruel

*-Meesha Kaw

Children in their innocence can be so cruel
This scrawny, frightened boy on his way to school
Children in their innocence can be so cruel
He walked with his head neglecting the sky
And the clouds, the life, the sun up high
They taunted, they laughed costing him fright
Gawking at the boy like he was a criminal in their sight
He yearned for a person, perhaps not so cruel
To quench his loneliness, as he sat on a lonely stool
Children in their innocence can be so cruel
And when the innocence takes its leave
Many horrors in life then fatefully reveal
The irony, the mystery, the cruelty of the Mind

Since my memory serves me
My shadow has always left behind a trace of disappointment
It lingers in the eyes of Others like a bitter taste
One weakness accepted, however, one too many weakness
Question my survival
There are gifts He so generously has sent from the palace of stars
Yet at times I close my eyes and there is something more I desire
Everything is there, everything we desire
However, some are just more evident than others
My soul is still in rhythm with the ground
I have not flown, I have not excelled
Fear and insecurity had become a priority
Failure comes as a second nature
I am good, I am good
I am accepted, no that I am not
I have been challenged; I have tried these challenges
I am undefeated, no that I am not
So, I wonder at times, when I’m feeling nocturnal
When will the light follow the dark?
When will be soul stand in rhythm with life?
When I’ll construct a name, when I have bathed in fame
Fame so immaterial that one feels satisfied, quenched
With charity, with compassion, with a love very blind

It was cruel, but I did perpetrate the act
I read words that were not meant for my eyes
I felt a shortness of breath, a wicked pain in my chest
Those words anesthetized me, but I could still feel
The bitter taste of a fusion of insanity and reality
The aroma of these words lingered within the walls of my mind
Like the pungent fumes of what fire burns
The smoke raped my lungs, I feel cold and clamy
I gasped for explanations, I hungered for empathy
These words she wrote were quixotic, amorous, forbidden
These words she wrote were patented by me, my duty, and my commitment
She was the God forsaken tempest that swayed him from the ground
She was an illusion of me I was told in attempts to be consoled
The mirror did not bequeath me a similar consolation

I asked him to bestow me with some silence, some distance
A needle prick of solace, respect, importance in these numb veins
But he held on with such affection, it was rather torturous
Soon he buried her in the past; he buried the illusion of me
As we lay together with a somber need to feel ones touch
Entangled so tightly, mesmerized the comfort not yet lost in each others arms
He whispered warm promises of love, his eyes drowned in tears
Strained with crimson ribbons, strained with regret
But the dead have ghosts, the dead have ghosts
And dead memories have ghosts, dead memories have ghosts
She haunts me ever so gently, even when my conscience is asleep
Because I so unintentionally, imparted my diamond to her
Now that her neediness is one with the rhythm of the past
I have been blessed with that diamond once more
Yet to unite hurts as much as the nightmares of being apart…

He was the scrawny boy
Whose deep, rich cocoa eyes touched me
Ironically they were starved of sweetness
I promised him one Holy night
I would exile his sadness someday
I desired to be the sugar, the panacea
For all the scars and immortal pain
But once I spoke of our love in vain
But once I fell a human and made a mistake
I feared that this good love was too strong in its perfection
That if condemned and absent, it would turn our spirits to ashes
Like those birds in Florence; one drowned in poison, the other took a dagger
Once I wished I hadn’t found the diamond under the rainbow
For it danced with me a dance of passion, too forward for innocence
The Man living in the Palace of Stars listened to my guilty confession
He took one sorrow away, that which I felt for dancing the dance of passion
But to pay the debt of ungratefulness, He bestowed me another…
Children in their innocence can be so cruel.
Also read following poems from Meesha

My Final Request, Verbatim  

Sand Storms of the Mind 

Roses are Red, a Sunflower is Golden

Meesha Kaw
Age: 19
Birthplace: Sirinagar, Kashmir
Hometown: Chandigargh, Hariyana
Current Residence: Holland, Ohio
School: University of Toledo
Education/Studies: Undergraduate studies in Psychology for Pre-Law and Pre-Med / Sophmore
Hobbies: Humanitarian work, volunteering, writing poems and short stories, tennis, interior decorating...
Future goals: To serve impoverished areas around the world, provide care for abused women and children. Medical School or Law School.

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Comments
I really liked your poem. Good one. so when ru going to upload one more!!
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