“Didn’t they love me the most?”
… Two decades ago.
The cubs would roar in unison,
“Circle is the shape we shall draw,”
whenever the teacher
asked them to draw their favorite shape.
Struggling to get me right in one stroke,
the tiny hands would scribble,
and nibble the crayon, if hungry —
only to split in laughter as their tongues changed hue.
Wearing me on their sleeve,
they would embark
on voyages to find balloons and baboons,
now and again leaving me in stitches,
speaking circle instead of purple.
(Teary-eyed) If I were loved so passionately…
What has made them hold animosity towards me now?
Is my fullness the problem?
Do they yearn for halves now?
Like the split in bills, houses, and relationships…
Why do they love squares and rectangles
over me?
As if leaving me for lines was any less scarring.
Hey! You…
Yes, you… the one who’s reading my painful story as an adult.
What have you abandoned me for?
Why do you dislike being round?
What difference did the pages in your teens make,
making you chase an hourglass?
You are free to draw and chase as many lines as you want;
— two decades later —
I shall wait for the day your balloon pops,
making you realize:
Your voyage took you far,
only to bring you back to me.
Penned By : Abheepsa Vyas
