with moments
lived in warmth
and amor,
you smiled . . . at life
stirring within.

A draft stole in
some dreams: dreams of a distant touch –
soft, careless, and warm;
And a voice – wispy and ethereal,
came crawling by, mumbling:
Mommy . . . !

drawn from the deep,
tears welled up, spreading
like mists
over the canvas of your dreams
swabbing the colors with wet lines.

your curls, dark and flowing,
wafted around
in careless arrogance –
The arrogant pride of Goddess,
dancing in joy –
in pure joy, of creation.

the draft
came back, one day,
laced with fragrance of your breath
and showed me these quiet moments
you had spent
with dreams of my becoming

I offer you
my obeisance, and
my being . . . to walk upon
and, a soft, mumbling prayer:
Mommy . . .!!

//11th May 2002