Growing Up

On a big, big cot, so small, you sleep,

With dreams promising.

You believe when they say,

‘Daddy loves you, mommy loves you’

Then you see the black liars, who taught you

to say ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’

Uncles try sleeping with nieces,

Fathers, mothers act weird,

Cousins begin siblings, end man and wife.

Mother forgets your birthday, father is least intent

In your oil painting on canvas

They break the laws they made you promise

Over ‘burning benzoin’, never to break.

Grandmother dies, they mourn a day,

Forty days later, they almost celebrate

Soon only the dust remembers her

She’s happier in her forgotten, moss covered grave,

And you envy her miraculous escape

At sixteen, the past dreams break their promises too

‘Technical virgins’1 they let you play

With them, but refuse to mate.

They break laws, distort minds,

Either you agree to smile their feigned smiles,

Or live the family’s ‘schizophrenic’, with drugs

Moulting from a living corpse to a dying one.

The cot’s small, you bigger,

Too late you realize

It’s not the promised home, but a
 Cold, eerie, hurting house.

ANUSHA.U.R.

15 yrs