A stone's throw away from your home
Crossing a valley, toss of a mountain
You'll find him. Wearing too large shoes
On too little feet, walking on the mud
His hands hold not his dreams and delights
And nor does his feet carry the weight
Of untold mysteries, of unspoken promises
For he is not you.
No, his hands grope the rough pebbles and stones
And the lies of too many politicians
Pressing on his feet are dreams not his own
But those of the adults, the preachers
The liars, still
And so he walks on the stumbling road
Thinking his fall every other step
And when they ask him to,
He throws away his light and life
In the shape of small, tiny pebbles.
Later, they would be rocks, and bombs
As they grow older
Unlike him.