He crawled into a shelter and stayed
Crying, talking, and singing.
As if the naïve children imagine
Their own world in an isolated shelter.
There was a group of little boys urging him forward and he did not want to go
He stood now, warped out, in the fierce light of publicity
Muttering and about to cry.
Conjuring up hostile gesticulations
Frozen, paralyzed, and petrified on the lush island
Terrified of the malicious, menacing mob and wanton teasing.
The small boy held out his hands for the conch
And the assembly shouted with laughter
At once, he snatched back his hands and started to cry.
Nerve-wracked, and intimidated, he hesitantly clutched a tight hold of the symbolic item
Then, trembling with fear, held it like a pearl, fragile and vital.