Scribbled Chronicle

When I was ten,
I wanted to fly.
Find a Peter Pan
And go on touch the sky.
My mom said, 'Honey!'
'We don't abscond that high'
So, I wrote the thought of my imaginary flight.

When I was twelve,
My cat succumbed and said good bye;
I was told 'Honey!'
'We're all meant to die.'
My tears filled the canvas with sorrow
And a reminiscence of my joy.

When I was fifteen,
We left the town,
My Dad said 'Honey!'
'Life takes many rounds!'
I wrote of my memories,
Of the old winds' sound.

When I got eighteen,
He broke my heart.
My friend said, 'Girl!'
He wasn't the one;
I wrote how my beau,
Left me unloved.

I write for my thoughts,
To come out and break,
The silence that has been bubbling long enough .
The canvas and the pen have been there by me,
To listen to my mundane chronology.