by P.R.Viswanathan
[box]P.R.Viswanathan speaks to his little grandson. The outcome – a beautiful and heartfelt poem. Read on.[/box]What is it that stirs me to the depth
when I behold your pristine little form?
I think of life, I think of death,
I think of the Maker and His universe.
Son of my daughter!
I see you smile and the world lights up,
I hear you stutter the music of the spheres,
and when your little pink-red fingers touch,
incredible bursts of strength course through me.
I am ready to go on and I am ready to go
I have lost all fear, there is no death;
there are no graves, no oblivion, for,
we are one of the tree of eternity.
I am the fruit, ripening rather rapidly now,
that in God’s good time must fall to the ground.
She the flower in near full bloom and you,
our tiny fledgling bud.
So the story of eternity unfolds over and over,
when I fall, I go nowhere; right here,
I will sprout and bud and flower and fruit
and perhaps have you singing to me.
Pic : P.R.Viswanathan
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