The Womb – Poems on Mother , Father , Children , Parenthood – Volume 1 by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

31. GOD'S MOST PRECIOUS CREATION 

I didn’t know who was his mother; the irrefutably sacrosanct womb which had evolved his impeccable contours,

I didn’t know who was his father; the revered principles of which; circulated faster than white lightening in his tender veins,

I didn’t know what was his name; the initials he incoherently embossed with his immaculately sweet little fingers,

I didn’t know what was his birthplace; the color of the cradle that must have witnessed his overwhelmingly surreal mischief,

I didn’t know what religion he belonged to; the inexplicable conglomerate of scriptures that were chanted on him; when he was just born,

I didn’t know the exact date of his cherished birth; the exact second when even the God's in the Universe must have inevitably stooped down to witness his

Omnipotent grace,

I didn’t know the words which he might have uttered just a minute ago; the rhapsodically innocent voice which must have incredulously enlightened the pallid

atmosphere,

I didn’t know what were his likes and dislikes; the games he adored the most; the delicacies he delectably nibbled with his freshly protruding jaws,

I didn’t know what was his shoe size; the fabulously spongy rubber which tickled him voraciously on his diminutive feet,

I didn’t know what were the fantasies circulating through his vulnerable mind; the dream floating ebulliently in his inconspicuously beautiful brain cells,

I didn’t know who was his sister; the tiny angel who incessantly frolicked with him in the corridors of unsuspectingly playful fantasy,

I didn’t know why was he crying indefatigably; the things that mattered the most

to his mesmerizing heart,

I didn’t know the identity of his naughty friends; the robust chinned tiny stalwarts with whom he spent countless hours every single day,

I didn’t know the marks on his flesh since he emitted out his first cry; the spots which bestowed him with astronomical good luck in every unfurling aspect of

life,

I didn’t know the school he went too; the clay which he fondled with in his magical palms; to chisel the most alluring shapes ever conceivable on this planet,

I didn’t know the hours which he went off to sleep everyday; deluging the ambience with baby snores; which were infact larger than the chapter called life,

I didn’t know the amount of milk he consumed; the fraternity of taste besieging

his daintily darling tongue,

I didn’t know what was the dwelling he inhabited; the celestial paths he transgressed; as he bounced uninhibitedly under the flaming Sun,

I didn’t know what was his destiny; the uncanny map of lines embedded on his mystically immortal palms,

And although I didn’t know anything about him; I still could sacrifice my life for him and infinite more of his kind this very instant; as he was Gods most precious creation; would always be loved for centuries unprecedented as a little child.