The child in me

The child lurking in me , every now and then
Pops out, craving to hop out, peering around with wonder
mulls over the blunders committed along the way .
“Blundering bazookas, and Blistering barnacles!”
How she rocked with the innocuous swear words
Of Captain Haddock, running after the flying birds
Hurling these expletives at them like a Tintinophile true.
As they flew buoyantly in the wide and beautiful sky blue.
Now she erupts from hiding, chortles in delight.
Gurgling a juvenile lingo
Bingo! Her petite body shakes with staccato bursts.
She doubles up, bubbling with mirth
at her girth increasing day by day.
By day.

The broken murmur of entreaty
“Stay, stay”, goes unheard
Time becomes a tiny bird
and flies away swift.
Should I go down on my knees? Kiss his feet?
Plead “mercy! Mercy!” Grovel and genuflect; it is time to reflect.
But time does not wait.
From subterranean depths, hisses the child, going wild
“Blundering bazookas and blistering barnacles,
Stay, stay! Or else!”
Time quivers, stops, nods with an avuncular air, relents.
Blunders no more, blisters no more.
And the wild child, keeps on keeping on.
Till it is time for me to be gone.

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