What is a child?
A flower, some would say, that blossoms,
Like an araliya, fragrancing the surrounding.
Beautiful and innocent, an offering worthy in front of the altar.
What is a child?
A blank slate, novelists like Shyam or Harper Lee would know,
Who used the unprejudiced, untainted mind of the child,
To teach adults of their disguised fears,
But, what is a child?
A sunrise, which brings hope for a new day and a new way,
A sunrise, flooding the world with glorious rays,

A tree, which grows towards the stars,
Following the sun, and the guiding hand,
Of parent, teacher and friend.

There once was a child who lost its way,
Among the turns and bends.
Going deeper, among the walls that rose higher,
the turns that became sharper,

Between layers of defences and pretences,
The make up and the fetters of social graces,
Between the blinding fears and the beguiling self,
Immobilised by chains of fear and shame.

Free your eyes, Release the I.
In each of us, there is a child,
Lost, trying to find itself in you,
To bring hope for a new day,
To show a new way,
To flood the world,
With glorious rays.