Of different shapes and sizes,

Colourful and interesting to see,

My hand itches to touch and feel,

And give a dose of my scrutiny.

But Mom puts the thing away,

To somewhere high above my reach,

A box of uninspiring toys,

Is what I ought to have, she says.

Why can’t I have what she holds?

Why is everything around me taboo?

When do I grow to reach for what she has stashed?

My wails and howls go in vain.

Funny that she gives me broken pieces

Called building blocks to pay with.

But when I’m victorious in fragmenting something,

She yells and gives a thrashing.

Why does she get mad

When I go under the bed?

Can’t she see how cozy it’s there?

Poor her, she would never fit in.

Funny how figures keep moving inside a box,

But never come out of that enclosure,

She loves to sit and watch that thing called TV,

What fun is in there, I cannot comprehend.

Why does she laugh at everything I say,

But get angry when I cry?

She’s always busy when I go to her,

Heedless of me, tugging at her.

She calls what she does as cooking,

Banging pots and pans with a stick,

But when I try to lend a helping hand,

She calls me a nuisance.

When hunger is the last thing in my mind,

She comes with a bowl of food.

And forces me to open my mouth,

After few protests, I concede defeat.

Some things, she would do herself only

Living giving me a bath,

She would pour water all over me,

But shriek off if I try to do the same.

Out on the road, I try to walk,

With my head held high, as her.

She stubbornly insists on carrying me all the way,

Puffing and panting, bent on my weight.

She really gets on my nerves at times,

Laying down the rules like that.

But in spite of being such a pain,

I can never leave her side.

B’coz I have known her all my life,

There’s no one else like her,

The last thing I always see before I sleep,

Is her smiling face.