Will I Give Shape To My Dreams? Poem by Manoshi Sinha

When I rested in my mother's womb,
The space within was my world;
Untouched by longings and cravings!
Happy was I until the call of the herald
Of maturity, of my shift to an infinite territory!

I knew not why when I first cried
My little world around rejoiced deeply.
And then I crawled, I walked, I ran
But I longed to be in her arms mournfully,
Craving to be cuddled in her embrace…

Rarely could I be with my mother, my creator
Except when darkness envelops deep,
For when the sun shines, she leaves.
And when she comes, I lay asleep.
For work, the little world around says, she goes.

Of care showered by a neighbor, my foster-mother,
Fatherless, I grow older amid tiny joys of affection
I hopped, I played, I screamed, I bawled naively
While children around, far and near, studied to perfection,
I yearned to be like them, to go to the house of knowledge.

I cried, I complained, my eyes open one night
Of sending me to school, she gave me hopes true.
She worked harder for shaping my dreams;
But fate has other plans, thus giving her a cue,
Of a prolonged illness, letting darkness prevail forever.

My little hands now geared up to toil for a living,
Will I, perhaps one day, give shape to my dreams?