Old Pesterer



In a nook of my vast house beautiful,

a doll laid silent, in dust and cobwebs glad.

A doll that clapped when I touched my hand,

rhythmically to music unheard and making one mull.


Time went by, making me busy with friends and goals high

ignorant I was of the toy’s incessant claps from land un-treaded,

calling out for me in glee and happiness in this world unheard,

there it was clapping it’s tiny hands without despondence or sigh.


I muscled thru life as a threat and yeild  to waste not,

no pause from the toil on the conveyor belt so tragic .

There it lay clapping it’s hands for me to be glad and stoic

in this incessant  life, where every second doesn’t goes naught.


I heard at last to the claps that echoed in empty rooms,

claps -serene, gentle , warm and unconditional, of tiny hands.

Alas! the toy had been sold for a dime amongst those random stores,

never can I listen to those clanky claps beckoning  childhood dreams.



Wait! I hear a mild clap from another corner,

Is it my eternal jubilaint worshipper reborn?

or this cynical mind, held strand from past far better?



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