lost in our own world

my two older brothers did their sums
my dad watched over them
I, with my pencil, scribbled
in a handmade journal-
my dad had got the sheets,
my mom had bound those-
a line, a few scattered words,
some numbers thrown in-
(in today’s world,
those make a password)
likewise my little brother lay beside me,
his nimble fingers fixing a toy car-
each one of us lost in our world
my mom our binding force

(you see, it was love at first sight for us)
I still prefer a pencil,
along with a handmade journal,
both older brothers dabble with numbers;
younger one fixes things,
dad watches over from above-
mom is still the binding force

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