A Hamartia


Weaned away from her
Was the child
Ferried to a terrain
People call it urban
He would learn sophistication
Said the ambitious father
On an upbeat note the nature’ nurse
Bid a farewell
The father’s siblings giggled
“Your ambition will be your hamartia”.
Does an ambition give in to a crowd?
A new trajectory for the young child
The first school bag, the first book
The fuzzy printed graphemes soon
Began to hold senses
His place of studies and rest
Was a small beetle shop
In quest of a place
Where peace prevails
A discovery did his eyes claim
A small local Library
With no serious upkeep
In his dystopian world
It was the only utopia
From newspapers to magazines
To old tattered books
And their musty papery scent
Became his cocaine
In the stories did he start
Meeting people the concrete reality
Would have never chanced him
With holes in his trousers pockets
And no wallet he travelled
Aross the seas and mountains
In the symphony of tales
And rhytm of odes and ballads
Lost he became outrightly
Cried in the tragedies
Laughed in the comedies

Fact and fiction
And their pitch and tossSometimes scald the soul
And at the other the countenance beam
He breathed in everything
His unsorted growing up
In this musrky world
Fell at ease.

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