Myopia

I was startled to hear him scream "butterflies" at first,
Then, I felt bad for him for two reasons.


First, the obvious absence of the creature around the neck.
Here, all we could see were the cloth lines that bore colored clips.
The barrenness and the voids of the concrete woods
Made the place wholesome here.


Second, the obvious presence of an imperfection
That you perceive the world beautiful.
I can be the right person to talk about this,
Because, I see "butterflies" too.
And I see more.

 
I see everything clean, neat, and pretty,
Everything far, misty, and romantic, and
Every person, a character from a fairytale,
Until they come near asking "what's up?"
I stare and stare and stare,
Yet unnotice the signboard that says, "Dead-end".
Long back in our village, I never threw a stone for a mango
North did I search for a cuckoo.
I never got wet in the rain
And many of my smiles have gone vain.


Now it's him.
He could inherit nothing better than this from me.
Let's see what's in wait for him.

About the Poem:

I was appearing for the National Eligibility Test (UGC/NET), and since I had finished the OMR-bubbling before time and was not allowed to leave the examination hall before the last bell, and there was a blank page for rough work at the end of the test booklet and I had my favorite pencil with me, I thought of writing down something. Hence, the poem. Moreover, the test booklet had a set of questions based on a poem by Margaret Atwood, "Bored", and one of its lines, "...details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,...", clicked me. Hence the title.