Little boy, are you lost? I ask,
No, I’m not, cries little Boy.
Where’re your mommy,
Your daddy? again I ask.
They are lost, o what a task!
Annoyed is little Boy.
I smile and ploy,
But you, what about you?
If I am lost, I never am,
They never look on cue.
But when they are lost,
and they often are,
(makes me cross, it does)
I help them find themselves,
Boy little delves.
I smile, he grins,
Then off he wanders,
Both lost and found,
And I, new images expound.
No longer cautious,
rekindled camaraderie,
turns into precious blooms
while adult friendships
abandon Solitude ~
it sneaks a hasty retreat.
This evening is a poem,
a tree-lined, green, colourful
Poem I carry home
in my back pocket.
Murakami’s construct leaves all of his stories open to a myriad interpretations, and that’s the beauty of his narrative.
He manages to etch distinct characters in each of his tales with remarkable dexterity and the Murakami mind observes quietly, much like the Lamprey, who live off life itself. I was agog by the sheer brilliance of an imagination that defies coherence yet draws you in, makes you believe.
Majumdar writes with great sensitivity- delving deep into the young lad’s mind, drawing from both the light and the dark that exist in tandem within. Ori senses the resentment his mother’s stage life provokes in others around him, the family and neighbours.
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