Whence early morning, with my ritual I commence

The ritual of my morning walk, ever so again,

I spot the little daughters of the rains

who come’th to moisten the airs and omens

My wet spirit gets damper when with a touch they get a scare

they are here and everywhere in the garden

bathing the leaves, stems and fruits and flowers

Wonder  whence they come’th, whence they go

Never waiting till dawn, to see the bright sunshine

Tiny crystalline dots of dew, embellish all, not just a few

Where do they hide, before their appearance?

Where do they go, after disappearance?

Do they feel the pains now and ever?

They bring the days, and die for the days

In their hearts is their some sadness?

Or do they do this in simple madness?

Do they just live for others happiness?

What o! What are these dew drops?

Did the Gods shed them in their tears?

Were they dropped down when heavens brushed wet hair?

Or do they descend to give  Mother Earth  her daily shower?

The blades of grass, the dried logs, the rusted old fence on the yard

they all enjoy this daily shower of dew drops

Facing the bold cold they come and get all in their fold

Reminding  me of their stories when I was little and grandma was old

Stories told  of their secret  love affair with the moon,

and how it always helps them proceed when the sun goes unseen

Since those early kid hood days, the Dew Drops have enchanted me

I begin to think they too on me have a hidden crush,

or perhaps they do think they have married me

For their signs always stay layered beneath my two eyes

Those  tiny drops that shed so ever from my eyes

My very own Drops of Dew, always fresh and new

Entrapped by the heart, concealed carefully

Pouring out in measurements oh! so askew

On my cheeks they do come down

When they don’t get the happiness gown.

by

Sikiladi

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In The Media:

The Asian Weekly Edition 319 (September 30- October 6th 2016)

http://www.theasianweekly.net/web/