Ode To My Grand Son. Poem by santhkumar prabhu

You draw on the walls,
You draw on the doors,
You draw on the floors
And you write in my books
Beside the imprint of my writings.

You paste pictures on the glass
Of my windows and car
To beautify them, no doubt,
Along tracks your imagination treads.

Patterns that you draw
Show fragments of Nature
As seen through your tender eyes
And drawn by your tender hand
Unable to follow fully
The dictates of your imagination.

If I so much as go
To the backyard of my dwelling
You run and overtake me
Even in that brief venture.

If I wash my car,
You wash it, too, in emulation;
Hurrah to your curiosity!


Often, in a pensive mood,
I hum an involuntary tune,
And lo! it turns out to be
The tune of a sweet lullaby.

When you are elsewhere
And when I see the relics
Of your works (so cute!)
Pictures of your face embrace my soul
As do sweet rain drops a parched land.

May your youth be prosperous
And old age trouble free!