Child of the mother!

Your first touch ,Your first clasp
is faintly random to my mind.
Infants can't make sense out of actions.
But some dot marks the heart.
And only grows.

My heart moves at the memory of
our fission and your first signature.
My physicality baffling you
and gratifying you simultaneously.

The way I must have been held.
With pride, with fear.
With everything and Love
With Love and everything.
Love being first unconditionally.

My memory deluded me for years
and as I touch my newborn's
bourgeoning eyelashes - for the first time.
And sugar-crystal fingers
with the fear of melting at my clutch
I feel you in my shoes - for the first time.
And for the first time
this mother in me , feels the
gratitude of a baby.

The child and the mother
they so go through
the mother and the child
and the child and the mother.

My mollycoddle

I see you within and without the white sheets of our love
the silhouettes of our love rise and fall - undulating.
for all the folly ,for all the wisdom
for all the strings of freedom we chasten
as we stay and as we move on by
I look at you to steal an eye........

Your thoughts are the fur
to the bloat coat I make of your meaning to me.
And as the contours in your eyes blur
they obliviously soothe my weening to be.

In the making of these coats and drapes
I wonder what this festoonery is all about.
And how less powerful
love should have been.

In my little boots I carry you
like you in your arms carry me ,
only less physically
and less metaphorically
and less practically
but the you in you , I do ferry.

I have to sometimes uncover you within
to seek you without
like some kid soaring high with a colorful kite,
oh that acclivity
and your little footsteps in my eyes,shining discrete,
and as you glance back
with that innocence
I stand smiling for the vicious sins I can be
for that single moment
for that single lifetime.

Often Man

Finally
your body has come to bloom
but
my small body can still hide you.
Your roughness,the aftereffect of us.
Your wilderness of the tame.
Like a man at a game.
The you in the avogadro movement,
visible only to my eye,
beneath those tendons.

Sometimes I wonder
how different you are :
from a baby,from what you were,
from the growing man and the growing child.
from the growing love and the growing lust.
from pain and from pleasure.

And
sometimes I wonder.
How same the face of your bare,
crawl and clench.
like my clutch tugging at my hair,
Both tuck and the yield there.

And
in this pucker of a man
how same the grace,
of a baby,
of oblivion to find peace only in my embrace.

The weight of snow

The nows of Himri

For a lost friend

I hark all wounds,
In them your face,
I reckon your words.
Like held swords
Before they rust,
Through my own chest
And the kill - now dust.
Still……
I deny to forget.

Then life ages like time
And this tree of anger
Decays and dwindles,
Kindles – all to repine
Only regret and fret
And the weight of moments lost.
Still
I deny to remember.

And then I remember
how I forgot
the things to remember
And then I remember,
How we forget forgiving.

Heart

All that weighs in life......
All that is heavy.......
Is always, somehow, weightless.