A wet-eyed toddler, his head bent, Ran for console that mothers lend; Wept profusely— To mend his behavior, off to a boarding he was sent. Desperate to be attended, this neglected bug, Ran to his mother for a hug, Stood motionless To embrace the emptiness, left to be thugged! In his teens he saved money, to get a birthday gift, Perhaps, this would give his down-spirited dad a lift; Bruised his heart His unopened gift, served to widen their rift! An adult, jubilant with his first salary, Awaited praises, already bestowed in his mind’s gallery; Reddened with shame When rebuked for the meagre salary! The salary is admired and the gift is opened, The weary parents long to hug their son, They wait and wait, The boy is no more, tears have finally won!
Vishakha is from India. Children hold a special place in her life. As a founder of Pencil Temple, she started this endeavor to create a platform to write, express, create and connect. She holds creative writing workshops for primary school children to help them develop love for language and books.
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