The man down the street, plays the flute.
His tune is soothing, calming my soul down,
Nonetheless, I walk off to the open fields for peace,
Looking at the cherry blossoms, at my own pace.

On a rock, I sat.
Spotting a few children, making merry -
Their joy was music to my bruises,
Unlike the most adults, who growl on their difficulties.

Then, I saw this outcast,
With messed up hair and goggles -
He sat alone in a corner, underneath the laburnum tree,
He must be scared for the world to
see-
What was racing in his mind.

From a distance, I could notice the scars on his tiny hands,
He was shrunk into his big-fit shirt.
While all the boys went round in circles, saying -
"Look at the fool, gazing at the grass!"

He had tears in his eyes,
He wanted to fight back, but he lacked strength.
He had no guts to stand up again.
What if they suppress him?
and his expressway to heaven comes soon enough?

My soul shook at the thought of his pain,
He still sat there, tears shattering his eyelids,
On his shirt, there were blood stains.
His eyes were blue and black, now.

They won, yet again.
He must be defeated to the edge of rock bottom ;
Nothing in the universe could feel the numbness of him.
He stood up, but like a statue, still.
The skies turned red, evening went on in.

"Not all kids have the childhood that's potrayed," I spoke.
The clouds agreed with me, even the heavens did.
And while I saw the boy walk away,
I knew, deep in my heart,
He was deprived of boyhood, of what he most needed.

                             - Anurima Mukherjee

P.S. - I wrote this from some personal witnesses. This poem holds the theme of "Deprived Childhood". Child psychologists say that many children, all over the world, suffer from early mental trauma and insecurities, which is a result of the absence of the happiness of childhood, as, so, pre-defined, by tales and talks.