A caricature

Of late I have noticed , I think a lot

Sleep less.

My eyes well up at the smallest suggestion of emotion,

People say , I speak aloud and hear less ,

Heart creates its own noise,

Stomach presides over all disorders,

Knees are giving way for the most part,

Gravity has a field day,

Having pulled everything an inch lower.

Ankles don’t obey and twist at will.

But somehow,

None of this, actually, hassles me

Because I am vain about this child

Who wends his way up

From my aching feet to twisting ankles,

Past the buckling knees,

Gurgling stomach and fluttering heart ,

Sneaks through the ophthalmic blinds

To take control of my mind

And cast an amusing sheen

That lends sparkle to dim eyes and

Tunes the ears to distant chirping.

My jumping heart becomes

A croaking monsoon frog.

The noisy stomach and nebulous stench,

Become a playful , teasing wench.

Wobbly gait that makes me slow,

Takes on the hues of a puppet show.

This is fun ,me thinks , and

This child is the real thing.

Rest all , put together ,

Is nothing but a caricature

Of what I thought was , Being.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.