Why so much pride?
Is your heart full of hatred,
For the sunshine, and the shade?
Why the pause in-between?
Is your heart in rage, against the dirt, and the water?
Why the middle ground?
I know you are a man of few words.
I know you have a storm brewing inside you.
But why fuel it by suppressing your pain?

Why extinguish the flames of your innocence?
Why my child?
Why the pause in-between?
My son, forgive me. Forgive us.
Thwart your inflamed steps.
See, even your receding shadow is begging you.
Stop.
Let the nostalgia fuel you,
Rewind the story of time, and ponder the thought of your bed.
The creaking old bed.
Remember the canvas?
The orange, and the red, and the black?
The abstract patterns an imprint of the storm inside your heart.
I do.
I remember your passion.
I even remember the print of your hand,
Tiny in proportion to the humongous canvas,
But it is still there, in one little corner.
A tiny green print of the hand of a soul capable of conquering the world.
Why so much pride?
Do you remember your love for mouldable clay?
The long neck giraffe you moulded?
Or the uneven shaped castle?
Or even the unshaped aeroplane?
The one you wished to fly?
I do.
Why the pause in-between, my son?

**

Via Daily Prompt: Thwart

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One thought on “Why So Much Pride My Son?

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