THE RHYTHM OF THE BUTTERFLY Contemporary Poetry Anthology by Santosh Kumar Biswa
My Father, my Mother My father, my mother, Why not, am I allowed? To sing with the Blue, Green, Red and all That’s blooming just outside my windows, With its leaves as tender as the morning sun. Attractive nectars it possesses. The right time, for a child like me, To feel it and experience, Not exactly inside this four, odd walls. My father, my mother, Why am I suffocated? Do that not, Set me free out of thrall. Like a free bird, I yearn to flee, To judge my inner self, of good and bad. Many say that you love me, Merely, I say to you, you don’t, Cause’ am being teased for what I can’t. Nothing other than these walls, have I known.
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