her first cry

never   teared your eyes


her first smile

never   dimpled your cheeks


her first giggle

of joyous recognition

never   mothered your heart


her first word

never   tickled your ears


her first step

never   reached your arms



almost



a prayerful pause ~ spindles time

through its aperture ~ she has your eyes !

‘tho a minutest inflection ~ you see your face !

what joyous recognition ~ self ~ in-dwelt

her flutter ~ divinely felt



You named her   Grace



gv 18.29.3  18a

Heavy chested I breathe
as the moon whitewashes the night.

The season is changing
and in the wind is the vapor of hyacinth
in the thick of which
the glowworms drink the nectar of night.

They have no philosophy and I have many
like while they dance just for the sake of life
my mind enveloped in obscurity
has shackled my feet and clipped my wings.

I wonder if the glowworms have a mind
that knows when they dance
they have an audience.

Maybe the stars know the same way
when they twinkle.

between us
our breath mists
as we pursue passion
this  night of zero  degrees
our ardour is  summers hottest day
as the sweat cools upon  bared *******
we reach an apex our very own everest
and then become aware of the chill in the air

Incandescent virtues , yet I'm a drought within .
I read tealeaves in mouldy cups of our tainted futures.
Our wicks that never saw the light, even though burnt out.
Untenable sight that we drank deeply on, but still thirsted for.