Promises, Ideas, and Dreams.

How is it that, just yesterday, I rose from my bed,

a child of such youth and vitality,

that no age can depict, nor can any number

describe or rationalize?

From the smooth brown skin of my arms,

to the dirt-roughened patches of my knees,

How can such innocence be expressed?

Fire at my heels, questions growing

in fractal like branches;

Where one is, there sprouts three!

Connecting and growing and reaching,

And like the brown and black tangles of

hair on my head, unkempt and carefree,

Curiosity never knew an end.

And now,

Content to stare and wonder,

or hide in dreamless sleep.

The innocence smothered

by the temptations of the world

and the errors of self.

The mind, once insatiable with questions,

with dreams,

Occupies itself with the convenience of today.

Would the child recognize me,

and I, the child?

Would we pass by each other

in ignorance? In relief?

In curiosity?

Would she see something familiar,

or would I look down in shame,

Knowing that I’ve long since

abandoned the promises and ideas

and dreams?

Nesha Usmani

February 1, 2013

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