Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Empty-handed

Like a child burying its face
In its mother's shoulders
On seeing strangers,
Like a son smoking on the sly
Trying to duck into an alley
On seeing his father coming his way,
Like a motorcyclist without a licence
Making a hasty U-turn
At the sight of a traffic sergeant,
Like a tailender inching towards
Square leg, as the paceman thunders in,
I feel like vanishing into the earth
When I see you swim into view, as delicious as the dawn
When I suddenly remember it's the day you were born
And I've brought nothing
But a heart bursting with love

4 comments:

P. Venugopal said...

beautiful...i can feel it. how old is your child?

Prabhakar said...

Thanks. My twin sons are now in college. I was busy baby-sitting for over 20 years! It was K.S. Subramaniam, Watson, Kavya Bharati and you who reminded me of my writing days. Let's keep writing. It is healthy recreation and also a process of self-discovery. Silence is much better but you can come to it only after exhausting your words.

P. Venugopal said...

prabhakar, i noticed you are good flow nowadays. i didn't mention it for fear of spooking you out of it. it is all about placing oneself at a certain position, isn't it? keep writing. it is so pleasing to see someone in good form--like vvs lakshman striking his way to a double century.

Balachandran V said...

You said it! Writing is a process of self-discovery.

lovely poem!