On a "lunch period" like any other
Was I sitting on a wooden table,
When I felt a sense of going to nether
For its legs were suddenly unstable.
Instinctively did I remove my belt
And swung its metal buckle to my right
where a hairy human head it instantly felt
and broke open as the blow wasn't light.
'twas a prank gone wrong for a grade two girl.
Little would she've expected to bleed.
The blood trickled down to her chin from her skull;
there wasn't a thought in my attack and speed.
I'm sorry once again, Razia Begum
though 16 years have passed since.
I recall this, smiling, not being glum,
for children's misdeeds aren't really sins.
On a day of boredom, both inside me and out,
I saw a friend swinging on the branch of a tree.
What interested me more that day without doubt
was how his sister clung to him and swung equally free.
"I too want to swing like that!" I said.
"NO!" shouted my friend, his sister, and their uncle.
But I tried. My friend fell with a thud and bled.
Maybe I should have stayed home and read Tinkle.
I'm sorry, Barath, for giving you the scar
that still resides on your forehead.
The year 2000 now seems way too far
I'm sure the hurt has also faded.
A moment of pain, a few drops of tears
Was I sitting on a wooden table,
When I felt a sense of going to nether
For its legs were suddenly unstable.
Instinctively did I remove my belt
And swung its metal buckle to my right
where a hairy human head it instantly felt
and broke open as the blow wasn't light.
'twas a prank gone wrong for a grade two girl.
Little would she've expected to bleed.
The blood trickled down to her chin from her skull;
there wasn't a thought in my attack and speed.
I'm sorry once again, Razia Begum
though 16 years have passed since.
I recall this, smiling, not being glum,
for children's misdeeds aren't really sins.
On a day of boredom, both inside me and out,
I saw a friend swinging on the branch of a tree.
What interested me more that day without doubt
was how his sister clung to him and swung equally free.
"I too want to swing like that!" I said.
"NO!" shouted my friend, his sister, and their uncle.
But I tried. My friend fell with a thud and bled.
Maybe I should have stayed home and read Tinkle.
I'm sorry, Barath, for giving you the scar
that still resides on your forehead.
The year 2000 now seems way too far
I'm sure the hurt has also faded.
A moment of pain, a few drops of tears
due to actions unintentional yet a lot fierce
initiate maturity that will grow in phases.
Childhood scars leave an impact
that's superficial and goes not deep.
A person's morale is still in tact.
It doesn't make them incessantly weep.
I'm sorrier for some damages I did
mainly after becoming a discerning adult.
Damages not physical but through words rapid -
the kinds that distress and cause tumult.
Children's misdeeds are not really sins.
They are but rookie mistakes.
An adult's rudeness that pricks like pins
causes deeper cuts, and bonds it breaks.
