Thursday, 20 December 2007

My Magic Child

They call her a square peg
She's my soft, simple primrose in
a garden of orchids.

She's their public joke
A helpless scapegoat caught in a
Cross-fire of the so-called sane.

And she's my pride:
A girl who makes me realize
The tangibility
The existential quality of

But even they make allowances.
They call her beautiful.
Yes, she's that...
Fine of face with
Large, long-lashed
Lackadaisical eyes.

That's what hits them.

And I love her-
Despite the fact that she'll never
understand it.

Because she'll always be in
Her own world;
That comforts, consoles her
When the outside world hurts.

They call her an autistic.
But she's my magic child.

Usha, 1984


  1. again a beautiful write..n such a delicate write ma'm! lovely!

  2. Touching poem.. Thanks for sensitizing us about the life of autistic children and their mothers..


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