Poetry. Neverland by the Indian author Adreyo Sen. Enjoy this amazing poem and have a wonderful day, Yareah friends. Art is everywhere!
In my sister’s Neverland,
soft hands push cold chocolate forward
on cool kitchen counters and a little
dark-haired child, or two,
is sitting cross-legged and giggling,
or trying to read the paper.
Mama lies in the darkened room
behind the bedroom door.
She’s about to emerge.
One can already feel her kiss
on one’s cheek.
Is she crossing the floor?
In my Neverland,
the little dark-haired children
stare rapt and silent
into the cupboard so full of toys.
It seems never to end, no matter
how much they examine,
with curious and greedy little sighs.
Mama sits, erect and frowning on the sofa.
She’s correcting papers and yet the children
can feel against their curly heads
the admonition of her knowing hands.
In the house we grew up in, we are strangers.
The dark-haired children, our sons and daughters,
will always call this home.
The way we once used to.
Smilingly invisible, enthroned in her armchair,
Mama watches them,
her hands steadily caressing an examination book.