A poem is born
when a child is born;
the little love,
it's tender tale
soft fingers
cracking voice
closed looks
hugging bulk
a tiny sack
of tender emotions
its urge to suckle
the milking spots
hunger is inborn?
in silence
when the urge is over
a sleeping verse
shut in dreams
beyond the closed eyes
lies all wonders;
about to bud and blossom
the lovely noises
and squeals of delight
it utters in coming days
the lovely turn arounds
first hug so tight
warmth exuding
the bond of heavenly taste
the way it looks
the new world around
with new ideas brimming
and novelties swimming
the day it crawls
sucking own limbs and legs
twisting and turning and
clinging and climbing
sizing things
with inner dimensions
stuffing all hand
into the little mouth
dancing in the leaking rain
pouring from puzzling drain
the languages it speak
with its silent looks
little chuckles
and telling muses
every baby blossoms
with thousands of poems within
soon to be manned
with dry prose stained.
lalitha iyer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birth-of-a-poem-5/
