Saturday, 8 June 2013

Waking Up Early (a poem)

Stumbling out of bed in the dark
I think to myself if this were Noah's Ark
I'd have surely stubbed my little toe
On that grubby wooden floor.

As it is, walking sight unseen, I must confess
My muscles are tight, my nerves a mess
Is that the door and or that the bench?
Ouch! I just stepped on his metal wrench.
 
Tip-toeing I go, knowing not where I step
Did I wake him, I cannot help but fret
The curtain's closed to the still light
But there's a glow so pearly, what a sight.

Waking up at dawn, this I love to do
But not falling over assorted shoes
Or stepping on scattered toys
Left carelessly by our son, that incorrigible boy!

Making it to the kitchen safely is a feat
A steaming cuppa coffee is my early morning treat
The aroma rising in that hour
I cannot wait, to sip and savour

But hark, what is this I hear?
A sleepy cry, a voice so familiar
Amma, he calls, Amma, come here.
How does he do it without coming near?

What is this sixth sense in children, one that defies logic
It wakes them up like that, it's some kinda magic.
But when a little boy presses his face to my cheek
To say Amma I love you, I really cannot speak

Love is like that, love is everything you see
Sometimes he irritates the hell out of me
Sometimes I long for solitude, to well, just be
But in my heart I know he wakes up early, to be with me