Black clouds of ennui Restlessness of a fly Synonymous with thee Neither excited, nor doomed Words fail to innervate Your name, the Outlier Queasiness nailed
Corneal spangle
Lather of Happiness
Love it is! The variable, Quadrants fail to accomodate Grows, And it grows, exponentially....
The toodle-oo moment His eyes change, stolid stare Tears trickling, cheeks moistened
Weightless drops, heavy on my soul Tidal Wave of separation engulfs me
( This is an Etheree. Etheree is a ten-line poetry ascending in syllable count for ten unrhymed lines. It’s attributed to an American poet, Etheree Taylor Armstrong of Arkansas. An Etheree should focus on one idea or subject )
I look at my kid...the innocence seems to spill over. The ethereal beauty of his face, his yearning of coming close and playing with me (till eternity).......ohh my, when he sleeps, his embrace - the magical touch of his says so many things; the sense of protection that he feels - anything and everything, demons, witches, and even his mama that come his way - baba is the sentry, who will build an impregnable wall around him, redirecting everything away.....I pocket HAPPINESS.
The other day, I asked him - what do you like in me? He didn't even bat his eyelids to generate the impromptu answer: baba, I love everything of you. I hugged him tight, tears moistening my eyes.....I pocket HAPPINESS
He overhears, and could only distill that baba wants to get into some school by the name IIM. Every night, before dozing off, he would say - baba, mark my words, your dream will come true. I would pat him gently, laughing to myself - Innocence is bliss. When I received the final admit, overjoyed I took him in my lap and spilled the news. He didn't show much excitement, and matter of factly said he knew it would happen. A bit wary, does this kid even know what and how much it takes to get into IIM? Smiling, I asked him, how could you be so sure? He with his casual promptness showed so much of assertion in responding to this: "Everyday, I told god, who resides in my heart, give my baba the thing which he wants because my baba is too good, and god if you don't, I will break my friendship and won't allow you to reside in my heart". I hugged him tight, tears trickling down....I pocket HAPPINESS.
The footsteps of mom, getting near.... I'm moved at the plight of the innocent bunch of tulips, the so-called orphans ( how can they ), at Liberia.... This poem is shared with : The Tuesday Platform Mag 261
