Apple Of My Eye
Look, mom, how I fly.
Entangled wings beneath my cry.
Canvas painted with innocence of ‘I’.
Filled with colours, but only dry.
Naive feelings touch me, but I’m shy.
Albeit, like the world, I am not sly.
Pure my giggles, touch the sky.
Look, mother, that’s how I fly.
Am I Differently-Abled?
~ Kabir Malik