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There toddles my child
On the green meadow,
Designed with juvenile dew.
His hands are pink and tender;
... The breeze of morn brushes his face.
Yet how calm and composed does he stand!
I fall in love with him all over again.
My new born that he is,
I name him my best Poem.
The fairies of clouds open their gateway to receive him with arms flung open.
Carrying him on their soft wings,
They transverse the world on my poem’s lyrics...
...my poem sleeps in placid peace,
amidst the melodies of nature…
and verses of river...
On the thrones of lilies…
and the buzzing of fluttering bees…
O my love! My paintbrush..my pens..and my crayons…
When this leaf of words will turn withered..
Let not sad tunes fill your heart..
As,
I know, my love...
you will surely hear,
From somewhere on this green sky..
Your child singing our first song of unfurling love of crimson shades..
On the gigantic golden canvas -
By the crackling fireplace -
on a tattered rug.
Then,
Let the delight of your smile….bathe me afresh..
And your passions fill my chalice,
And you will feel the magic anew,
sculptured in the the queer harmony of our tumbling child,
as he will tread along the path of History.
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