The blossoming

I watched her stop and stare

While mother kept walking, unaware

She jumped and grabbed

From the rooftop of a silent car

A fallen flower

She ran with that burden

T’was her school bag

And presented the dying blossom

To her mother

Just for a smile in return

And something in my heart

That had died

Was flogged to life

Ah, I wished to be a child again!

Chiseled raindrop

God, when you chiseled a raindrop,
How did you think of a stem,
Bearing a lovely satin leaf
To hold the tiny gem?
How did you know a million drops
Would deck the morning’s hem?

Frozen Emotions.

I ask my father many questions, the answers to which I am incapable of finding on my own. 

He just looks at me and smiles.

It’s a pity that framed photographs do not speak.