The Missing Girl ...

From our first few steps to our last few steps,
we fall, many a times,
Through our lives, we have our great falls,
big wounds and small scrapes.

As a child, every wound was welcomed with a wail.
A few hours of pain and agony, but not much of a travail.
The pain would soon wane,
and the healing would be set in train.
But once the physical pain diminished,
the wound was little cause of anguish...
Greater curiosities would hold the attention of that fickle mind.
As the wound healed and the scab was formed,
it sometimes became an inquiry of the innocent kind,
picking, peeling and prodding, as if there was gold to be mined.
Within days, a new skin would shield us again,
as an invisible testament to the wound, that once was a bane.
Every injury was thus just a tiny distress,
as a price for some great adventurous success.

But things change, as we age.
We fall time and again,
but it is no longer the body in pain.
It is the ego which is bruised.
It is the soul which bleeds and it is the heart which cries.
We no longer bawl our way to recovery,
but we let our wounds fester with those unshed tears as if in a morbid brewery.
Even as we heal, our scabs are no longer a source of curiosity,
They leave us seething in agony, breeding a sense of animosity.
The pain is no longer physical as it nestles in our heart,
like a dart waiting to rip us apart.
Scabrous memories that haunt us all along,
serving as a constant reminder of all that went wrong.
Years go by before we heal,
leaving behind a scar so real.
A scar that toughens our insides,
a little like the outsides.
But then instead of being scarred like a warrior and a victor,
we run hither and thither in search of a secure shelter.

With the years and the scars,
I forget the child I started off as.
She was certainly not the cynic I sometimes am.
Neither the coward I sometimes become.
She was certainly not daunted by challenges like I am today,
I think I've lost her somewhere along the way.
Somewhere along the way, with every hurt and every bruise,
my heart has lost a few sinews.
Somewhere along the way, I am a new person,
completely unlike the little child who was undaunted by reason.
Somewhere along the way, I've held onto the railing,
than just flailing my arms to try sailing.
Somewhere along the way, the fear of falling,
has won over my heart's calling.
Somewhere along the way, caution has crept into my soul,
unlike the fearless spirit that once made me whole.

I wish I can find that childhood zing,
to jump out on a prayer and half a wing.
The strength that made me walk the first time
and the strength that made me graduate from mime.
I wish I can find that little girl,
who lived her life enjoying the everyday swirl.