From the lips of a newborn
Which has never been pricked by a thorn
Comes out an innocent wish
A humble longing to cherish
What would keep him intact?
Oblivious of every bitter fact...
He idealizes his existence
With time, he learns persistence.
He thinks he could remain as such
Pure, cute, without an evil touch...
Yes! It's my childhood story
Aspiration to carry the glory
A dream to be milk
Unadulterated, unalloyed, urbane like silk
But now, you have me
Like a cut tree
Like broken pieces of mirror
With shackles around, full of terror
My couch is despair
Now I have grey hair
I couldn't prevent my desire
From wearing a hypocritical attire
For I had a dream
To dream the ideal purity
But now my tears give no surety.
(Syed Ahmad Raza)
(5th position at KELS English Inter-class short story and poem writing competition, 2013)