The faint call of rainbow
the secret talk to Sam
the believing
the dreaming
the hours of All Time Low
the strays circling back
the stash of concert tickets

Among all there is a wholesome son.
His name, we feel pride in, Shauryan.
On 20 November was the jewel born.
So precious that all want him as a pawn
But parents not ready to give for scone.
Without looking at him there’s no dawn
Chess playing at different levels is on.
All are sure of his ability family to conn
In a perfect direction without any con.
He is the best known and virtuous icon
Wishing best for his overall solon.

My dearest sister has a son.
We call him dearie Shauryan.
Healthy, wealthy and pawn
Of parents, demanded scone
For eating in evening or dawn.
Chess playing at state level on
Till nation or inter forgone.
Never is lazy, never is con,
Is the best known icon
Wishing best for solon.

We fight.
We always fight.
And it always ends in me leaving,
Me yelling,
me slamming the door,
me crying.
And I hate that I'm so hard to deal with,
and I'm sorry...

I yell.
I always yell.
And it always ends up in you pleading,
you crying,
you apologising,
you shouting.
And I hate it when you cry,
and I'm sorry...

You try.
You always try.
And it always ends with us crying,
us hugging,
us forgiving
us talking.
And I hate that it takes so long for me to say;
*'I'm sorry.'

They're super annoying,
But you love them still.
No matter how much you hate them,
You'll always do anything for them.

THEY YELL! At the top of their lungs.
You can never have parties with them around.
Never hang out with your friends alone.
But still if you look at those days you'll realize
how much more fun everything was
when they were around.

Sometimes I feel better with them around
even when I am mad at them.
And I would hate it if
I never had enough loudness to fill the quiet house.

Their called sisters.
When I feel down they always lift me up.
So I am thankful for my sisters.
Even thought I don' show it.

Love the name.
Got upset
When the man called out, Seen.
Stupid man.
It's Sean, and not Shawn.
A year older than Gerald.
Two younger than Kevin.
Two older than me.
That's Sean.
Daddy wrote home about us.
Maura was working at the hospital.
Sheila was finishing highschool.
Kevin won the Science Fair.
Sean plays ice hockey with the All Stars,
All over Canada and the U.S.
I found the letter, penned in '62,
A jagged European cursive. They tend to write the same.
I've seen the words, run together to hide the spelling;
With JMJ's and TG's sprinkled like manna throughout.
The last page was missing,
Just when Daddy'd write about Gerald, me, and Marlene.
Gerald with his Beetles haircut.
Me, mimicking ( probably mocking),
Some unknown priest, to my father's delight;
Marlene, the wee pigeon, he missed most when he worked
Away from home.
Jimmy, The Bruiser, wasn't here yet.
The last of an Irish brood settled in Canada.

I discovered it in the spare room at Granny's and Frank's.
There was no mention of Michael, Eucheria or Particia.
He exaggerated about the harsh, six-month winters here,
And our proximity to the North Pole.
Suggested Frank try putting copper wires around Granda's wrists;
The Egyptian mummies didn't exhibit signs of bone deterioration.
Daddy was hard-pressed to be proven wrong when he concocted.
Sean had a drawer full of ribbons, medals, trophies and plagues,
And a large S, his Senior Letter.
He also had sideburns, a much smaller nose, and,  smelled
as good as he looked,
The Elvis dip-curl, the Connery swag, the Selleck stash to Clooney cool.
Sean kept a disposition of hidden pains secreted for others.
A heart of tears.
A spirit of adventure.
I love Sean, I recall.
He is always welcome here.
Drops by sometimes.
It's always a great surprise.