3rd March

The sky is a blank blue wall.
Obtusely withholding meaning.
And this day of third March
Holds secrets in treasure chests
Pearls spilling from white clouds.
My son's legs thin as matchsticks
Dangling from the balcony
His body like soft white bread
Flabby on the brick red tiles
And his utterly cute baby
Pumpkin head
Curious charm
Casual benevolent.
I hear that soft breath
Rising falling
In his hope chest
Of abundance.
The sunlight's abundance
Bathes him in youthful
Spring.

My mad March hare
Grow tall and strong

In the fall
You'll discover.
Your own Treasure chest
Of memories.
Till then
Time Traveller  of
The zodiac
Bridging quasers and pulsars
Filling up black holes
Of redundancy
Leap through worm holes
Of faith
Those are opportunities
To render opposition
Into binary stars
Of duality.

Go far,
So far that
If I may
Never see you again,
I will know that
It's because you
Know best
How to be right besides me
Without giving it away
The cosmic game
Life or Illusions
That we play.

Wilfully
Or willy nilly.

My son
We are human
We accept the challenge
Duelling destiny
Like heroes
Without seconds
Without moderation.

Life makes me
Wonder
It exhausts me
Leaves me
Tearful fretful
And wistful.

It leaves me
In wisteria lanes
Of desperation.

Life
Leaves me forever hungry
For itself.

I'm my son
Who lives
To tell.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017