Ananta Madhavan


Toys


I sit like a child
Building word-blocks
And pile them up high -
A nose-scraper, no less;
But the tower in the myth is doomed to fall.


I sit like a child
Playing word-trains;
On twisted tracks
the wheels come loose;
But the journey in the tale will never end.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Topic of this poem: child

Form:


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

An early poem, printed in the New York Herald Tribune, Paris edition,
on 29 December 1964, with the title, 'Toys'. Dedicated to my son,
then 18 months old.

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