Pradip is newborn (impossible wisdom)

“a new day, a new chance for my soul... to heed
a small voice ... to give flowers, to plant new seeds.
to not trample on wildflowers and unwanted weeds...” Sally

“Sweet baby
with your head on my shoulder
I'm no more growing older...” Pradip

~

the unpredictability and randomness of the winds,
seed carriers, of small voices, yearning to be heard,
powerless in appearance only, for within are powers superior heroic,
           who can grow others       who can feed    
                             who can sustain multiple living creatures

each seed unique, a poem composed and complete,
authored by precedents, authorized by predecessors,
utilizing the cocoon of soil and sun,
rainwater from space and deep driven to
the clear milk of underground railroad rivers,
to give nurture to its revisional generational code

these new children of an old mix,
are quiet lifesavers giving proofs positive,
that those who will one day grow old,
with deep gnarled roots, are most capable
of finding ways of manufacturing fresh youth whim within,
to those who give babies homage, in attendance

this then the newborn miracle, the new seed,
wind borne, replants itself in old soil,
taking but more so giving,
injecting bits of vitality into its arterial ancestry,
how can this be?

I do not know the why or the how,
but am evidence of the therefore,
and the thereafter, of impossible wisdom



7:07am 4-5-19 a newborn poem for poetry passing grandparents

Look at your hand
There is a sparkle of
Enhancing light
started to sprinkle from it.
There is a magical universe
Blazing from your hand.
Say it as magic or illusion.
You are the one who can do
These miraculous things.
Unveil the wonders
Your hand can do.
Recoganize yourself
There is the creater hiding
Within you. The one
Who can make every
Impossible things into possible.
Realize it. You are ruler of
What you want to become.
Believe in you.

Nothing seems impossible...
when you're with me

You gift me gold,
bringing back old habits,
remember though that
I never aimed for the stars
nor the way they shine,

I wear the gold around my neck,
with no sparkles in my eyes,
wishing it was silver instead,

you see;
gold bends and stretches,
but silver reflects and deflects,
it can handle reality,
even when things heat up.

A little lost person
felt so small in a world
that oh, so big
but nothing could compare
to their thoughts and dreams

They liked what it thought;
their dreams were unbelievable
yet when someone asks them
What do you like?
They draw a blankness reply

For what they liked,
felt impossible to do
the future seems to clog
the wheels stop spinning
they question themselves endlessly

The brightest light blossoms
in the darkest of places
Like colourful lilies full
of fragrance springing from
the most stagnant waters

The nights
When the moonlight shimmers
with her golden colour
The stars decorate the sky
Just as a princess is decked with
ornaments and priceless jewelries.
The darkest of the nights gives the biggest picture.

The biggest hive,
With the biggest and fiercest of bees,
lies the sweetest honey.
Like an ugly flowers in the garden
Which perhaps will constitute
a beauty when on mountain.

The butterfly,
Which nature has used to
decorate the earth to shame Art
Has nothing to show
When it is a caterpillar.
But I can't look at her on lilies
without smiling like a tickled, dimpled baby.

Ain't nature generous enough
That she shows all that
there is nothing in anything?