My grandma always sang me to sleep
Riya Jaiswal
there lived an angel in the cerulean sky
wove sapphire yarns embroidered with
lilac, pink and crimson fleece
people called it sunset
sometimes she blotted them grey
her tears kissed the earth
leaving behind her scent and bow
people called it rain
every dawn, birds twittered her a visit
rooster hailed cock-a-doodle-doo
so merrily she embroidered them golden
breathed tender breeze swaying trees
people called it sunrise
one night my grandma sang herself to sleep
her woven neverland forever lost
until I became a grandma and sang
there lived an angel in the cerulean sky
embroidered with silver and multitudes
of orbs tucked in constellations
people called it night sky…
I was delighted to be able to share this warm and loving poem with you. Thank you, Riya, for allowing me to post it as our Poem of the Week. – Susan