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Athwart
Athwart
Child:
Look! My dear mother, the serene summit of those high hills.
Hark! My dear mother, the cadences of the handsome halcyon.
Sway! My dear mother, along with the debonair daffodils.
Dance! My dear mother, along with the proud plumes that the peacocks adorn.
Mother:
Come, sweet child of mine.
High hills, handsome halcyons, and proud plumes of the peacock are all fine,
but I must step out to earn.
Nature is divine, and from it, there is so much to learn.
Come, sweet child of mine, I will share some secrets of nature you cannot see.
I will make you discover this nature, athwart nature’s glint and glee.
The serene summit of those high hills is lashed by wind and scorched by the sun.
The handsome halcyon makes many furtive fervent flaps before it gets its prize.
The doting debonair daffodils hold acids to make the rodents run.
The peacock's proud plumes make it look large, to keep it safe from its predator's eyes.
Learn to endure like the high hills.
Learn to keep trying like the handsome Halcyon.
Learn to stay strong like the debonair daffodils.
Learn to make beauty your strength like the plumes the peacocks don.
Copyright ©
Saptarshi Mukherjee
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