Her sound was familiar
yet different.
Some part of it coincided with
my mother’s echoes
Others with that little baby’s curiosity
The curtains near my window danced
As if it was happily waiting for the purity
from the heaven to get sprayed on it.
The clouds gave hint just like we get
before a birthday present
And I witnessed everything with my nerves,
conscience and skin coming out of their heritage.
How lucky was she,
when the creator Himself came out
in parts to witness her
The voice of this spring seems as if
approaching closer every second
With every bud waiting to bloom
And every heart cleaning up its rusty rooms.
-Shreya
DuckDesk 