They were young, loveable too
Some straight, some twisted
Some crisply cursive
Shining chalk white
On my innocence’s slate

Till the day, they found their way
Till the day, they flew away
Out of my bedtime fairy tales
To the yellow posters of highway protests
Out of my mother’s sacred scriptures
To the pink gloss at footpath stalls
Out of my father’s one-act plays
To the expired ration cards!

Now, they are old, ugly too
Some straight, some twisted
Some brightly painted
Overnight they run around
On the cogs of printing wheels
To scare me the next morning
To laugh at my frailty…
As i read out the headline
Of the front page bleeding over my tea!