The Restless Soul: A poem by Neha Gupta

Yet another day was gone, colossal night sprawled,
With the setting of the Sun, a new wave of forlornness swashed,
On the coast of his mind, he tried to gather bits of his broken innocence.
Absorbing the salt water from his eyes, his pillow proffered him some solace.
Folding his tiny five years old hands, he prayed to see his mother.
The melody of his mother’s voice, from her womb he could still hear
He longed to rest his head on her lap and wrap his arms around her.
His prayers remained unanswered. Why? Wiping his tears, he wondered.
The orphanage had been his home as long as he remembered,
Looking in the mirror, he often searched for his mother’s features.
His unfortunate self was covered in the shadows of guilt,
He reasoned her actions, by blaming himself for upsetting her.
The intricacies of the adult world often left him puzzled
Wasn’t he supposed to have a childhood like other children; untroubled.
Refused to believe other’s words, he waited every day for her.
Fidgety fogged over his entity, the guilt of being not good enough, tortured.
His pain was much deeper than the river flowing in front of him.
Letting go of the scarf his mother once wrapped him in,

He entered the world of adulthood, drowning his every hope, 

 Embracing only one thing, a gift from his mother, his restless soul!