I’m B.

A once told me that two plus two is four,

I said five,

A said four,

I said five,

 

I asked A:

What is five,

A said one, two three, four, five is five;

I asked A, why not one two one two one is five?

Where is five? Why is five, five?

And thus began my journey into the world;

Breezy Buoyant B,

Saw A world so animated and funny,

They called a white furred, long-eared creature God knows why a bunny!

 

Beaten by realization B was now told,

That the big bright sun that rises in the west is east,

And what B believes to be east is actually west,

That father is not mother due to lack of breast,

That every vowel is preceded by ‘An’,

That this is called brown because of tan,

That the protrusions from the tree are roots,

But protrusions from head are hair not roots,

No, don’t object,

 

That five is five and four is four,

That there wouldn’t be any discussions no more,

But B battled to B like B was,

 

Bowling and strolling in a garden one day

B realized B was circumfenced in the garden of A

 

B doesn’t retain that spine,

B’s thoughts don’t spiral in A world of ironed beliefs,

B has been bent,

Broken,

Blasted,

B has been Aligned,

To exist in A world,

B will talk as you want B to,

B will walk where you want B to,

B believes what A calls fire,

Because B was burnt a few days ago.

Garima Pura has to her credit 18 years of existence in the later part of which she discovered her love for talking and writing. She is a devoted foodie, leisurely artist, pass-time poet and an amateur photographer.