The child in the window | – Poetry
By: Preeti Vyas |


Locked. Chained?

Sneaking through the panes.

His friends are playing around in their muddy t-shirts.

Rolling the ball in the street,

Across the puddles of muddy creeks.


He is wearing a white shirt today,

He imagined having a splash of that dirt on it,

Even the thought gave him a shiver,

Having tough parents didn’t come with a choice,

One has to live with them, through sadness and rejoice.


He wants to scribble his pencil on his notebook,

But his mind is making him draw a spiral,

He is not allowed to,

Letters are what they want,

Creativity is often not the demand.


Tick tock tick,

His mind is listening to this sound for so long,

Mixed with the joyous screams from the ground,

They promised to let him out at five,

But the clock is not at all moving from its hive.


Oh he cannot give up that early,

He is not a person who lose,

He will finish the pile of tasks,

And then tie up his shoes tight,

To feel free and loose.


Let’s see,

Let’s read.

Let’s check out some vocabulary,

The words he doesn’t remember,

And jumbles up when he speaks.


But why should he,

Why should he read, write and say,

‘Emigre’ ‘Macrame’ ‘Protege’,

When he doesn’t have to,

Use those words while he plays.


A mind of five is waiting for the clock,

To move around its arm and strike five,

Until he loses his calm,

And throws away his white shirt,

Running through the door spreading his arms.


Image: ScoopWhoop

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