A Bed of Liquid Roses
I write of me, I write of my fate
Something that not happened to me till date.
I lie in agony in a mass of red
It seems like my death-bed.
I cry out to someone, to someone I call
Will I live to see tomorrow, or will I live at all?
My condition I hope you will not see
For if you do, in shock you shall be.
A limb broken and a broken skull
Everything is suddenly going so dull.
I dance, I dance in wonderful poses
As I lie in my own bed of
Note: This is another poem by Bloo, written in February ‘06.
My first impulse as a parent was to shrink from the morbidity of it, and to tell her to refrain from suicidal thoughts.
My second thought was to wonder whether this was a warning bell. Were we and her school subjecting her to so much scheduling pressure that she was cracking up and giving us an early-warning sign with this poem? And so I triggered off some changes to create room in her life for just goofing off.
I wrote a longish post in August ‘06 on the importance of nurturing the Me within each of us, ‘Re-engineering My Life with ‘Me & I’. (It’s in my Best Posts list.) A focal point was Bloo’s delicate Me, and I mentioned this poem in that context.
I’m re-posting this poem now, juxtaposing it with her recent poem close to two years down the road. Hope you guys don’t think it’s an overdose of a father’s pride in his little girl’s emerging voice. Admittedly there’s much parental pride here; for that I beg your indulgence.