Wordsmith: A Nostalgic Dip

I run to seek shelter on her lap.

She is no one else but mom, one of her own kind.

Finding absolute solace on that little but so big lap, I take a flight to my cherubic childhood, birding a gap.

Years before when trees were innocent

Flowers and birds had their own scent

When the universe looked like a pure paradise

And people were not just worldly wise

When I would get my doll married,

Squabbling with my younger brother,

over his snatching my candy,

that to my tender bosom, I closely carried.

The paradise was there in the lap

And elsewhere rather everywhere too.

Then suddenly the innocence of the trees flew,

The cunningness and deceit in flowers began to grew

The bewitchingly beautiful birds too disappeared

In remote corners were sometimes found feared

The little doll was no more little and cute

No music was rather left in her flute

Outside mother’s lap the heaven got disfigured,

With the disgust of Men so Brute

Exuding then a scary scream,

I run to Mother’s lap.

Some part of Heaven still protected there

Fair enough

To make my soul flutter and clap….