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
the dawn here is hours behind their sunsets, this then, a refreshment for the
wisdoms of their evening prayers
