31 day poem Day 22

Here is Day 22 of the 31 day poem I have started writing for my 3 and 1/2 year old brother.

So, as per the challenge, created by Maja, from the Business in Rhyme, I will write 3 stanzas each day of December, as part of One poem.

Two messy hands,

And one toothy grin,

My world’s sunshine.


Run around my love,

The world is yours,

And you are my world.


Never fear, my baby,

New horizons, or new people,

For your sister holds your hand.


The memory is etched, 

Of the first time I held you, 

And felt so rich.


In my arms there was, 

2.6kgs of joy, 

bundled in a cloth. 


“Your brother has arrived”, 

The doctor announced, and I heard, 

Your serenading cry, the first time.


First smile, first laugh, 

And oh so many firsts!

I was euphoric.


Amma”, I called out to her merrily,

“He has pooped for the first time”

She rolled her eyes.


You slept peacefully,

As we all became owls,

To feed you at night.


3 a.m in the morning,

Was your playtime,

You are the king of the house.


Serenading cry soon became,

An annoying one,

As you cried all day.


Sleepy zombies roamed the house,

We were crankier than you,

Cyclone of emotions.


Shoes went missing,

Newspapers strewn all over the room,

Our house resembled a battlefield.


Toys were thrown,

And my cosmetics too,

From the balcony to the ground.


Our phones went straight inside the toilet,

Air tickets were torn,

As you took your baby steps around the house!


Every storm you went through,

Had passed through me too,

I suffered your pain.


Each fever you had,

Adorned my forehead,

With beads of sweat.


I’d then fight with the Silent One above,

To not harass you so,

A prayer drowned in tears.


And yet your first year passed,

In a poignant way,

Turmoil left irremediable scars.


Oh! the tumultuous first year,

The year we gained one life,

And lost another.


As our paati sailed to the heavens,

Voices splattered blames at us,

Bereft of condolence.


But your smile was like the warmth,

Of the streaks of sunlight,

On a biting cold winter day.


You were the solace,

To the fresh wounds,

A remedy to all our pains.


The lost mirth would return,

As you wet your clothes,

And ours too!


Days passed by,

Under the scorching blaze,

Long Delhi summer.


Baby steps graduated to baby run,

You danced around the playground,

Kittens and pups ran for cover.


The park became your second home,

And my skin exhaled,

Drizzles of perspiration.


Delhi bathed in rain,

And my little peacock,

Whirled around to its tune.


’Twas around that time,

You gradually metamorphosed,

Into a mischievous monster.


“Terrible twos”, everyone said,

And we waited for it to pass,

As our tiny tantrum king reigned the house!


So, I learnt buses could fly,

And runway for airplanes,

Was a sleeping adult’s body.


And walls were adequately coloured,

With waves, circles and scribbles,

By a mini Picasso, armed with crayons.


But the fun’d be short lived,

Once you’d begin inflicting violence on us,

Unmanageable kid at work.


Soon winter spread its wings,

In the Capital, meanwhile

Freezing its people.


And you wondered probably,

While you counted,

The layers of clothing you had to wear.


Hibernation’d pause for a while,

Afternoon rendezvous with the sun,

Basking on the grass.


Garden city of the South,

Beckoned to us,

Relocation began.


Boundless joy touched us,

As we reached the peripheries of the city,

But it was an ephemeral one.


Grey clouds of worry,

Fogged our minds,

Coughing toddler amidst us.


Oh! that day in the hospital,

And the formidable nebuliser,

Traumatic day indeed.


The episode wasn’t forgotten,

Yet the memory was certainly alleviated,

As first words flowed from your mouth!


“Aishu”, you called out, the first time,

Never had I experienced,

Such bliss on hearing my name.


And the unexplored terrain,

Of the new city waited,

For you to tread over it.


One mall after another you entered,

And all the play zones were rejected,

Our king is fond of open lands.


Lalbagh, Cubbon Park and many other parks,

Became your choices of a weekend outing,

Iron slides preferred over plastic ones.


17 years separated the time,

When we share the same warmth,

The blissful oblivion before birth.


And this too, became a point of mockery,

Primitive society with foolish views,

Fails to let people be.


As you walked holding my hand,

They assumed I was your mother, 

Naïve beings, with witless thoughts.


A girl needn’t become a mother,

Only when she gives birth,

To a delicate little one.


She transforms into one, 

The minute she holds another life,

In her hands.


But I shut the voices out,

And let my thoughts waver,

Only to you and my CA books.


Then the much anticipated trip,

To the Tirupati temple was taken,

Climbing all the way in the bus.


Oh, how the man behind the counter panicked,

As the kid in front of him jumped,

And came back down like a spring.


Phew! Finally the tonsure was over,

And so was our plight,

Our monster looked like a monk!


Our 2 year old, now prone to scathes,

Fell frequently, but hurt me,

You bled, but I cried.


And as you’d see Amma

A tearful exchange would commence,

Drama queens of my house.


I learnt how to get up, after falling down,

As my smiling wounded toddler did so,

The painful encounter, instantly forgotten.


The young man, now grown up,

You put on your thinking hat and tie,

Ready for a new adventure.


The first day of school it was,

Oh! I never knew you could cry so much,

Room full of crying tots.


Probably I cried a little more inside,

Than you did that day,

It was the first time I was away from you.


But you wouldn’t know that,

You were so mad at me,

For having left you with strangers.


Then the challenge started,

Teaching you the alphabet,

Arduous task that makes me sweat.


We learnt your rhymes by heart,

While you ran away to your bicycle,

At the sight of books.


And then you’d go and play,

With Appa, torturing him meanwhile,

A tiny boss for him at home.


The D-day came, your first ever stage performance,

You danced to a patriotic tune,

While exuberant family became emotional.


Oh, how can I forget the summer that came next,

The Indian tableland kept pace,

With global trends of warming.


[ For more info on this 31day poem challenge, visit here ]


Amma = Mother, Paati = Grandmother, Appa = Father}


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