I used to count the stars
when I was anxious.

It was beautiful when
they fell from the sky.
Everyone took pictures
and spoke of the
art of destruction.

There are no stars now
and the night grows cold
and all anyone does
is ask *why?

They would sneak out quietly in dark nights,
walk to the desolate beach slowly hand in hand,
and lie supine on damp white sand soaked in star light,
shedding from light years afar,counting stars as if it's their job,
wasn't that an esoteric ritual, prelude to a cosmic trance?

Love gifted a stole to keep them warm,
to her it was him and to him it was only her all along,
and on the sand bed in such nights they got to know secrets,
from the  galaxies,together they broke taboos of every imaginable kind.

They would wait for the seventh wave from the ocean's mind,
that was the moment they knew each other intimately than ever.
the seventh wave was a gift of pearls from the depth of unknown,
and the sharks were on the shores roaming alive like in fairy tales.

They kept awake for the seventh wind, that did blow promises,
on a space above, they hovered standing naked chest against breast,
the seventh wind told them many things, in to it's essence they delved,
wind, water, fire within, space in between,earth mother holds together,
an awareness , they roamed around the galaxies,wasn't it wonder itself?

Oh Mama, sweet Mama
I wish I could do better
These times when I have to be the backbone
Because you are in your room crying.
Oh Mama, sweet Mama
I feel so much like a child at these times.
These times when I play your role,
Adequate wife and nourishing mother.
Oh Mama, sweet Mama,
I am not fit for such a burden.
I hate to disappoint you,
But I fear I fail where you need me.
Oh Mama, sweet Mama,
I feel so old even now.
But someone has to do it.
Because if he carries on
The way he does,
It will surely **** you.
And if "mother" does not carry on
In the house,
He will **** himself.