The newborn wails – just a few months old
As his brother, not heeding what he’d been told
Snatches a teeny doll from him
“It’s mine”, the baby cries, in his own baby language.
“Give it back to me!”
Bent over her kiddy books
The tiny tot gives menacing looks
To the girl at the next desk – her stealthy neighbour,
Who takes a plunge at her pencil with renewed vigour!
And thus, inevitably – a fight ensues.
The young teenager – the coolest one around
Ditched by his friend for a new friend found
Pitches into battle – a raging war!
To win back his friend from afar!
“He’s mine – don’t ya dare touch him”, is the battle cry!
The budding sportsmen – great ‘volley-ballers’
Tense up, stunned, as a great voice hollers:
“Mine !”. and all give way for the big fellow
Who smashes the ball with another big bellow!
Well. I wonder – “Is the ball really his?!”
Come Graduation Day
Watch the father say:
“Look – my son!” – donning a robe, in all splendour
Proud of his feats – a growing sapling, so tender
“He’s mine”, Dad proudly proclaims.
The father dies. His sons – the young men
Do they care about their mother? – No! Not them!
Commence the Third World War
Battling for their share, from lands afar.
And Mother Hen tearfully watches her family go to pieces.
Wherever I turn – in the world – wide ‘n’ fine
There goes the cry: “Hey! That’s mine!”
What’s mine, and what’s yours?
Whence they come, thither they go.
For when we depart, we don’t take anything with us, do we?