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Child

A two-foot tall little jumble of blood and bones, sweat and skin, tears and tissue, wearing a summer frock and holding a 6-inch plastic figurine walks into the junkyard. Find me the jaws of life that’ll claim this life and I’ll hand you my faith in humanity along with my severed head on a silver platter.

There’s no religion here, no political motives in this little girl’s eyes. She’s not here to steal your land or convert your kith and kin. She simply lost her way and ended up somewhere she was needed, at your feet, where she could bring you to your knees with a piercing smile. Her concerns are much bigger than yours: Where’s her life-giving mother? Her protective father? Where’s the blanket she’s wrapped in when she’s tucked in bed? You worry about foreclosure and adultery and war and injustice. Where’s the immediacy in all those problems? Her problems are imminent to her survival; yours a mere indulgence for your idle mind that craves stimulation and attention and recognition.

Learn from the child so we may be innocent. You’ll fool her once, you’ll fool her twice, three times. You’ll fool her a hundred times and still she’ll come back to you unaffected, with a clean heart and clear conscience. Tell me, who’s the fool then?

1 Comment

  1. Sanaz
    February 5, 2007 at 2:17 am

    Pranshu, this is beautiful. I love the imagery and discription. You are so talented!

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