"Daddy, can we play?"
He heard her voice,
Red ball in hand,
As he looked at the pile
Waiting on his desk,
And shook his head,
"Tomorrow definitely..."
A wry realization,
He had said that yesterday too,
And more words came out, "No wait..."

***

He lifted the trophy,
High above his head,
A deserved victory,
He had worked hard for it,
But then he remembered,
As his opponent applauded,
And he walked to him,
Replaying the final point in his mind,
A ball that fell on the line
And he called it out...

***

"He doesn't even know how to add,"
She thought counting the coins,
The change he had returned,
As she left the shop,
Walking away,
A little too quickly
Before he realized his error,
Feeling a prick,
One that couldn't be ignored...

***

Guilt,
There always is a bit,
A tiny thorn pricking our hearts
In that one moment of redemption,
A white conscience that drapes us,
Covering our frail souls,
Letting us hide our ugliness
Behind a cloth that slowly tears
And grows blacker with each day...

~ Rahul Misra ~


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