Bonding

Nurturing

Bound by blood and milk, and later–tears
and apron strings for many years,
by fabrics, apple pies and flowers,
head coverings and yielding powers
to men, who didn’t know the riches of
being trussed with mother’s love.

A random act of kindness
can without the gutsy roots of passion
join two hearts in a different fashion.
She made my bed the first night of school.
It’s only an angel’s who’ll
lift her wing to shelter another
when her own brood needs
the heart of a mother.

I shared a room…
and a night became a childhood:
overlapping secrets and toys,
germs and joys,
and cigarette butts, and midnight feasts,
misunderstandings and making peace;
the smell of pine and curry gas,
sneaking parathas into class.
Everyday incidents knot juvenile hearts
that continue reminiscing hemispheres apart.

Then it’s a man that captures a damsel–
a decision, a passion;
committed to be vulnerable;
a bonding of bodies
and hearts and the future,
a breaking of habits
and bones and a suture
that binds even stronger
than wills at the start
that made solemn promise,
“Till death do us part.”

Bound by blood and milk, and later–tears
and apron strings for many years.
I gave them birth and fare and berth
and hope secured beyond this earth.
But these cords that tie are just a breath
when we’re bound in a love
more sturdy than death.

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