Unseen scars.

Published October 28, 2014 by Shreya Rajvanshi

The old swing smelled of metal,
With its hinges old and rusty.
A crack in the chain,
Making the spring hang on loosely.

He hides behind the swing,
Scared of being spotted
By the happy faces around him,
In the park which was so crowded.

He didn’t want to meet the eyes
Of the smiling kids,
Who’ll be tightly holding
Their parent’s hands.

He didn’t want to listen to
The echoes of the words
He wants ever able to speak.
“Ma” and “Pa”, they were.

He felt a stab in his chest
Every time he saw a mother
Bandaging her wounded child,
Her face etched with worry and bother.
Very little he thought of himself
When the young boy hopped
On his father’s back,
Demanding a ride.

The expressions of love and pride
On the faces of the parents
Sickened him to no end,
For they were foreign to him.

He had never been embraced
In the warm arms of a mother,
To cuddle him during the storm,
To save him from all wrong.

No one was there
When he needed a soft hug,
When he wanted to lie down in the lap
Of the mother he never had.

He missed out on the bonding moments
Shared by a father and son,
Over a cup of coffee
Or a game of soccer.

He didn’t know what it felt like
To have someone pat his back
As a symbol of pride and trust.
This is something he has always lacked.

He longed for a safe haven,
His own secret temptation.
Something he could call a “home”,
Something which wasn’t an orphanage.


7 comments on “Unseen scars.

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