Grow Up, Slowly
written by: Gautham Pradeep
Sunflowers caressed by her luscious tresses,
unfolding her yarn,
of harps sweetly knit.
As delicate as the waterfall emanating from a creek,
her eyes share a tale of yesterday.
Eyelashes soften the winter chill,
the past and the cumulus spell nearby.
Her words, a hammer on my temples,
with her agony evident in the discourse.
Oh, why a lily so gentle must an evening moan?
Trickled many a morn,
too dark to unsee yesteryears.
Pouring unto the rain-wrecked shores,
flowers on a midday shrub.
Tales of kings and queens,
waterways on the annals of time.
I hear, I moan,
smiling chords of innocence
on my windowpane.
An elegy she recites,
confiding in a man of torn sails.
Her tender cheeks I place,
in the cradles of my loosely knit conscience.
Her face I know not,
nor I know her demeanor.
Lest she should shed a tear,
an eternity in my mom’s lap.
Crossed branches and the prickly pear,
tale mine she knows not.
My mom’s lap,
once an abode for my aching psyche.
Oh, where am I now?
Lay on my lap, young one,
day’s best they needn’t be,
my frail arms shall embrace thy pain.
winter gloom or spring blossom.
to her face,
motherly affection and my lost youth.
Look not of the meadow’s moaning,
nor the tainted marshes.
as the gale on the unhindered paddock.
into the eternal youth,
from my lap unto the skies above.
Don’t look you my disposition,
sapling you planted I shall nourish.
Youth you bring,
sipping on nectar you exude.
Blessed you and the land below the sky,
my mother I now return to.
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