By Shriti Malakar
"Isn't the blossom warmth of a mother the peaceful of it all...
but what if one touched the same before it was developed at all?
The nature of a girl attaining the teenage, the ripest, the beautiful phase...
unfortunately meant to be touched, tormented and falsely chased.
The very orientation of man turns upside down
One is only left agitated and frowned!
Oh, my little girl with the gravest childhoood you had to encounter
Need not be passed to the generation that comes from you;
Teach your child the good and the bad touches
cause the next time he searches for his prey,
He dare not forget the screams that shall wave past rooms astray.
A child learning the not to be learnt soon
was only a victim in a dark room
to a known goon.
The most angriest or the dumb of them all
wasn't what she wanted to be at all.
Because the algorithm of maths and the practicality of science experiments do not fit in her mind,
As she was taught the 'wrong touch'
to be the secret between the two of all...
and shunned the right to never fall.
The best of creative and the most of art comes from the darkest room
Cause my dear... this was where once
The little soul was doomed!"