The doctor’s say it is his heart’s murmur
that keeps him small
like a doll
he carries with him throughout the day.
But I know, that like a great fish
in a small tank,
though his dorsal fin will curl,
he will outgrow it,
this limiting, childhood of his;
And, being grown, discard his little pond;
And surface up, somewhere, in the Atlantic…
Having escaped the crossfire
between his parents:
Two warring Continents that ravaged his world
before his eyes!
I know he fears the open spaces
between us,
like a Battlefield, a “No Mans’ Land”.
And the occasional but tenuous cease fires
I know, no, I believe in his tale
because, wounded, his hearts’ murmur,
Whispers it, as so…
Excellent theme, excellent treatment, fine presentation. Thank you John
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fine write, John. I quite agree with Raveendran.