The Paradoxical Watchman

The Paradoxical Watchman

From the eternal archives
Of my childhood, arrives
The image of the watchman,
Who wanders for an endless span
Through the alleys of the colony,
Whom my father brought. Funny
Is the memory for he looted
Us, the ones always ready to be fooled.

For a child, innocent, analphabetic,
For me, a favourite was he, with a trick
During our play sessions.
I drove my cars into heavens,
And he hid my planes
In paper clouds hanging in curtains.
I noticed his fascination for planes.
He never hid a car for his trick,
And stole all the planes he could pick.
Heavy, his logics, that no word could bare,
But illogical, our thoughts were.

Indelible his memories stayed,
For the colony, half slayed.
White and tall survived,
Dark and short murdered,
Ones, couldn't abide, exiled,
Men of letters perished,
But a hero for headstrong kids he remained.

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