Me a tiny tot , would throw pebbles
on the storm ,to get them to stop !
wrong I was, as like uncontrollable rhyme
they subterfuge me still .
I am a seeker of shelly ,
but rugged words of Carlyle
have been trolling me !

In the days of festive bath, my feet were
stand still in the bottom but
hands moving on the flapping waves !
Standing on the bank ,
my mother caught my malingering.
I am still half and half
in breakage of mine .
Though I am invisible
as my mother is no more !

Copyright @Dr Pragya Suman