In the folds of my hand one day,
a dream yearned of a song.
A song that only my soul could sing.
I wonder how I had passed my tiring days
and my sleepless nights--
My ears tuned to a distant hum, a meticulous heartbeat.
I wonder how I blossomed a dove.
Docile yet untamed, my sweet little dove.
White as a snow flake does his spirit shine.
A spirit I can't apprehend always, but feel proud ever.
My fortune unfolded one day and he descended to my life.
My dove enthralled me, embraced me with innocence.
Asked me to hear and taught me to care.
Delicate wings like baby fingers,
caressed my face,
Baby lips hid in my bosom,
made me sigh of time so short,
I wept happiness and kissed
his heart.
My dove grows everyday,
He walks and crawls, he stoops and runs.
My dove is mischievous and saintly in one.
I feel satiated with joy and worry too.
What if my Dove spreads his wings,
and fly away far, where I can't reach him again?
Then I scold myself of my despair,
I am the one who taught him to fly,
how can I not know where he goes.
One thing I am certain of --
I love my Dove and it is me he loves.
YOU ARE READING
Pen Points and Paper Boats
Poetry"Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream. In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of the village where I live. I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am...." [Rab...
