A day at the Museum

Daddy, daddy I don’t want to go

Mommy please tell him,

I don’t want to go.

I want to go to the ground where breeze flows,

Where that sun shines,

where I’ll be able to run,

kick, jog and climb

Don’t say that son,

Museum to is a nice place,

A place of history,

A place of knowledge.

But I don’t like history,

It bores me down

Tugging at his father`s sleeve

the boy just wants to run.

Slowly the small family makes way to the large hall,

Glittering under the huge chandelier

those arrogant statues, empty portraits and unused artifacts.

Daddy, daddy why does the man in the picture have such a stone face?

Why is he angry?

why is he mad?

No son he isn’t angry

He was a king once,

and that’s how kings look like.

Oh a king was he?

So he must have fought battles too a many?

Did he look the same,

when his soldiers were killed and army fleeing?

 

Dad look, look!!

That`s a broken statue.

its face is deformed and arms gone.

Son it’s because the statue decayed with time,

the exasperated father replied.

But dad if it has broken and crumbled,

how is it still arrogant and proud??

Look dad in this picture,

All those people are bowing to the king

In those times did they actually worship the crown??

Bemused father, at a loss,

what to say to his child,

How could have mass murderers, who torched down entire civilizations

be considered as Gods?

Dad I like this king, he looks kind.

Look he is giving sweets and gifts to those poor boys.

Silently the dad smiles and turns around,

those false portraits which narrate false golden times,

pictures which are always dumb and mute,

of how those poor boys lost their families,

whose fathers died in the pursue of king`s lusty desires.

Father leads the son away from all this farce and explains,

Go, go out and run son.

fall down , get bruised but still run.

As the true world,

true knowledge outside resides,

Inside , here is no history.

its just a story a man writes.