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(7.6.1967 / Kochi, India)

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Birth of a Poem

A poem is born
when a child is born;

the little love,
it's tender tale

soft fingers
cracking voice
closed looks

hugging bulk
a tiny sack
of tender emotions

its urge to suckle
the milking spots
hunger is inborn?

in silence
when the urge is over
a sleeping verse

shut in dreams
beyond the closed eyes
lies all wonders;
about to bud and blossom

the lovely noises
and squeals of delight
it utters in coming days
the lovely turn arounds

first hug so tight
warmth exuding
the bond of heavenly taste

the way it looks
the new world around
with new ideas brimming
and novelties swimming

the day it crawls
sucking own limbs and legs
twisting and turning and
clinging and climbing

sizing things
with inner dimensions
stuffing all hand
into the little mouth

dancing in the leaking rain
pouring from puzzling drain

the languages it speak
with its silent looks

little chuckles
and telling muses
every baby blossoms
with thousands of poems within
soon to be manned
with dry prose stained.

Submitted: Thursday, June 11, 2009


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Comments about this poem (A Motherless Day by lalitha iyer )

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  • Gert Strydom (6/15/2009 2:26:00 AM)

    This enchanting piece of work about creation and love really hits home.

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    0 person did not like.
  • Ch J Satyananda Kumar (6/11/2009 2:02:00 AM)

    Madam, It is a wonderful poem. You have taken me 23 years back to my old memories, when I was blessed with my only daughter! It is wonderful to watch that little tender baby growing-up into a well matured person winning laurel in life. Your poem has brought back all those sweet things back into my mind. Getting baby into one's life is a thrilling thing for a man or a woman. Thank you so much for the great poem. Regards.

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