Molding A Child Into A Man

A Free Verse

Let me peep into lanes of my bygone days’ memory.
When an innocent boy of ten I was, I often override mom’s instructions.
Never were these big or manly but ever childish
Never leave the fridge door opened, but I did
Never interrupt while someone talking, but I did
Ask questions when the other finishes, but I did
Was it fun for me to disobey her commands,
No time she left to impose a penalty
No chocolate for a week, no video games for two days,
No meeting-talking with friends for three days.
As I grew up in a man and was able to peep into her penalties
That taught me a lesson of self-control unconsciously
That instructions became guiding posts in my life
That showed me a way to steer a disciplined life
That the wisdom of words she did have none
That the wisdom in deeds herself she was
No wordsmith; she was a childsmith
Who knows better than a gardener
How much water, heat, cold enough to nourish a plant into a tree
Who doesn’t believe the child’s first teacher could mold triflings into miracles
Mom’s penalties tickle me now and then to laugh and laugh,
Out of the exquisite, subtle pleasure of my bliss
For being chided, lulled and loved to grow into a man of worth

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