By Vrinda Batra
Born in some beautiful cotton fields,
I take my first breath when the crop yields.
I am taken away from my beautiful family,
And left in machines to be transformed fancily.
I start my journey as a pillow,
Where I find my friends like me, as a mellow.
Everyone has a different shape, quality and size,
So they attract a unique price,
Little do humans understand the meaning of this
advice .
Then I am sent to a showroom big,
Managed by a chap gig.
There I am paired with a pillow soft,
Finding my solace in a woman's loft.
I am covered with a cover white,
To be sent to a young boys' room bright.
The woman colours green and brown on my white
cover,
As if I was a shady tree, a pleasant bower.
Her son plays with me by hitting his brother,
As if I was brought from neighbour another.
He sends my aesthetics to his friends,
I am his artistic creation, he often pretends.
I am used to playing passing the parcel,
And sometimes, for stopping the hassle.
I help in being a support to the mother,
For her aching neck and some pain another.
I go with them for watching the bear,
And make them rest on their celebrations rare.
I often become his reading buddy,
Motivating him to keep going with his study.
Later the boy places me well on his bed,
Little did I know that he was full of dread.
He is smiling day in and out,
But at nights painful voice stuck in his shout.
He feels sad for some unknown cause,
Wakes up throughout night,
Speaks to himself without a pause.
Complaining about some people anonymous,
But I his supporter, I am completely unanimous.
On murmuring, he then lays on me,
All the men out there lend me your ears,
Because he says "Men don't shed tears,
We aren't girls, we are strong."
But how do I explain him that he is wrong?
At last tears rolls from his eyes,
Proving all he said was truth in disguise.
Emotions are not bound to any gender,
They are universal for all hearts tender.
Emotions flow freely, irrespective of the divide,
In every soul, they reside.
He pushes me against the wall, when in rage,
Forgetting about my increasing age.
I feel like I am living in a cage,
But still try to be a sage.
He is a fighter, a ranger, a bundle of power.
Little do humans understand,
There are more people, who make you cry,
But very few who have the ability to spy,
And absorb all your fears like a pry.
I am often treated worse,
But I don't treat it like a curse.
I am created for peaceful sleep,
But if you believe, I can teach you lessons deep,
On letting your troubles sweep.
As happiness can be found in things small,
Not in crazy brawls.
I try to offer support,
Just like your parents, your last resort.
Be my friend and I will never betray you,
Trust me well if you do,
Because you are my pal and I am too.