Littlers

Trying to get crazy beyond the point of no return, you make me forget forgetfulness. The enduring turbulence of your makeshift patterns are etched – oh, so ever! – in charcoal sketches. You draw me like a cartograph, smell my reveries like some wolverine spectre. We believe in being just eaters as life walks to me in tiny packets of boredom – wisdom. We do make noise, though, never being the best of kids. They say, you ought to pay heed to the ‘littles’ of existence, without getting belittled by them.