Struck
by a whisper half-dead ages ago,
Ensconced in the cocoon of helpless calm, hiding in untamed waves
Of stretched tiny arms,
And eager little fingers,
Of life in bud
To be enfolded
And sung a song to;
To be promised 
once and more
more and more

to etch for him(er) too his(er)
own shade of eternity.
Of it.

© Rajkumar Panthoiren