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Toys
Rubber ducks are racing down the stream,
With unflinching eyes fixed on unknown finish line;
Red beak smiles across yellow faces,
Floating by Archimedes.
Thick skins but light weights,
Not a thought in their minds: vacuum, empty spaces;
Winds and waves rush them along
Further yet to unknown end.
And the boys are screaming and running
A little along the river banks,
Cheering on the blind and deaf rubber,
Riding high on the thrill of the race.
Feet on the ground,
Their rubber on the water;
For but without;
Lifeless interfaces.
And the ducks do race,
By the tide, by the wind,
As boys’ hearts too race, by the grind, by the heat-
Cans under pressure, ploding from within,
Our ducks become us; we want prominence, nothing less.
When empty ducks fail: second placed, third placed,
What was erstwhile flesh melts and then fades,
Broken hearts, low spirits upon boys’ faces-
Did we become our ducks as we cheered them along?
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