Written when my first child was born.
(Culled from my poetry collection A VAGRANT MIRROR)
Come, my slayer
Let me hold you in my arms
Hug you tightly
Kiss your tiny forehead
Hold your soft little hands in my hands.
Silk soft, smooth, and delicate
My three months old babe, my son
The first sunray in a freezing winter morn
Warbling his baby song
Tweet, peep, cheep
Bobbing his arms and legs in a dance
My moon of a baby
A symbol of my ‘being’
A flower of my genetic garden
I call him by all the good names I know – but
Oh, but …
Also, a forewarning of my death
The first-ever call of my non-being
Lying in wait for me.
Tomorrow, O’ my baby
When it would be the noon of your life
I will be a doddering old man
Day after when you are my age as today
I will be breathing my last.
You, my babe, are the first-ever reminder
That you will live and I will die.
Come, my slayer
Let me hold you in my arms
Hug you tightly, kiss your tiny forehead
Hold your soft little hands in my hands.
