| 1.
Time Encapsulated
Was Time ever
made captive
as when I
conceive you
my little one,
and made use
of every
infinitesimal second
in shaping you,
my darling,
from the
primordial egg
to the merry
embryo
and to a vibrant
foetus?
I weave at my
will,
every waking
moment
and every
sleeping wink,
the pattern of
time
into matter and
space
to give you form.
Time is in my
grasp.
Time is at my
command.
Time is
encapsulated within me.
Time is incarnate
in my offspring.
My blood waters
the seed of Time
to bring it to
fruition
and make the
miracle of life
possible within
me.
Feb.
1999 |
2.
No Perfumes for My Child
Mother,
do not anoint
your child
with lotions and
liniments,
do not dab his
tender skin
with sweet
scents,
do not burn
incense.
See how naturally
he smells
his sweet
innocence,
the fragrance of
the unpolluted
self,
the aroma
that derives its
essence
from divine
munificence.
Mother,
do not sprinkle
rose water
nor spray
perfumes
on your little
infant.
See how he exudes
a subtle
redolence
that feeds on
ambrosia,
the milk of your
love's
abundance.
The magnolia
lends its secret
grandeur at the
break of dawn,
the rose blushes
with the morning
flush,
the champa and
chameli
titillate the
senses for the day,
and the rat ki
rani
tingles the
nostrils
under cover of
darkness,
but the sweet
fragrance of your
infant
is there for you
to savor
all day and night
throughout the
year.
June
1999 |
3.
Let Tears Flow
Do not worry
and wonder
little mother
at the flights of
mood
or a slight
flicker
on the visage of
your toddler.
Through his
language of signs
he unravels clear
and true
his innermost
thoughts to you.
Do not panic
mother
because he weeps
and cries,
nor tear your
heart out
when in crying
sometimes
he holds his
breath to lividity
for what seems an
eternity.
Crying gives his
limbs and lungs
the much needed
exercise
and breath
holding
is the first
lesson
in that self
discipline
of which yogis
have oft spoken.
Do not fret and
fume mother
when tears well
up in his eyes
and flow down his
cheeks in
streams.
They are the
cleansing nectar
that wash his
eyes
of the
unsightliness of this world,
they brim over
for thee
in the first
leavening of love.
July
1999 |
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