Monday, July 27, 2009

The Child

Often I feel I am still a child,
Innocent, crazy, at times wild,
Naughty, adamant and choosy.
Refusing to be elderly.

I love the crayons,
Red, green blue, all versions.
I love to paint,
And believe, all humans as saint.

Living without pretensions,
Always with obvious intentions.
My love is as transparent
As is my hate so apparent.

I mean what I say,
And hope people don't betray.
It's not as simple with grown-ups,
For they live with masks.

The Hi to the guy/gal in the neighbour
Translates to a friend next door,
But people doubt my candor,
Worried, I maybe asking for a favor.

I am so repetitive about my doings,
Tell people again & again about my feelings.
I love them, I love them,
Until it goes deep into their system.

I'm also as tender at heart,
Therefore get easily hurt.
I'm as aggressive for my wants,
Just a determined kid demands.

My honesty,
Is my travesty.
My availability,
Is my frivolity.

My friendship,
Is my need for kinship.
My feelings,
Are my rusings.

I don’t know how to be like the grow-ups,
And live all the life with thick masks,
Controlling your every natural emotion,
Living in feigned erudition.

The Child within me,
wants to come out and play,
I don’t to suppress this, and let myself astray.
For, that's my seat of God!
Don’t' care if other's nod.

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