(Photo Credit: Brooke Shaden; More of her at http://brookeshaden.com/gallery/)
You hand me five balloons
drawn on pink paper of dreams
Your teacher has listed:
of your matchless beauty leaving
for me – ‘THEY’ stare back,
...Mother knows best
weaving butterflies of your choice
flitting along your path of dreams
growing with breaths of spring
as you twinkle laughter in insouciant caress
of petal-like cut from the remnants of that pink paper
I wonder what could define you as unique,
bowing down to ticking pauses of seconds
to spell the names of your colours –
Mother knows best...
Don’t ‘THEY’ know?
You are an undisguised blessing – gift
wrapped by an umbilical cord
listening to my unheard footsteps,
while I beat the daily noise and
tie your feet in anklets for and of conveniences
often, shadowing them as call of duty
–What do I write about my harvest moon?