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.
In The Media:
The Asian Weekly Edition 319 (September 30- October 6th 2016)