There is, in each one of us,
A new born duckling.
Fixated in time, fixated in love,
And no question of doubt or mistrust.
False wings, false hopes, but true reliance
And no such querulousness,
For we follow the one we see first-
As an erudite, someone you can depend on.
Independency- that’s the word, pretty promising…
Much quixotic, or a corollary
Of our vast imagination and fantasy.
Freedom, liberation, individuality
Of true independence, autonomous and sovereign
Keeps us afar from reality,
Bending our impractical prudence
Even further, towards queasiness,
Where we look back with concern and disgust,
And fret about our past.
Only we don’t know, and these expectations
Raise our standards, elevate our confidence-
To a faithful and an improbable state
Only to fall deep, deep down…
Into the known world of unknown,
The world you despised and deserted,
Now becomes a learnt comfort of home.
Bringing us back to normalcy,
Bringing back our new born duckling.


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