Coconut drops.
The sun blazes down.
Improbable
To survive these conditions.
Mother is wise.
She has given a thick skin
To shelter
Her babe for some time.
Coconut sits,
Awaiting its turn
To sink
All hope in the soil.
Mother is wise.
She has provided the nourishment;
Enough
Perhaps to get started.
I go to the street man,
Machete in hand,
Slicing
The top off, he hands it.
With lips on a straw,
I stop just in time
To understand
The significance of what is unfolding.
Sacred Life,
Can you accept this fate?
Your birth
Is now lost in my being.
With humility, a request:
Come share my existence.
Together,
We can reach for the skies.
js
2 October 2005
Delhi
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