This poem that I found, sitting damp on the ground,
shall I love her and give her a home?
Give her gifts of sweet chimes, clothes of adverbs and rhymes,
so she claps her slim fingers in glee?

Shall I coach her in dance with steps that repeat,
lift her chin, shape her hands, time her feet?
Teach her manners and style, so she’ll be a good child
who smiles at the strangers she meets?

Or shall I let her run free – full of fun, full of grace,
let the wind and the sun kiss her face?
I could teach her to pray or to sing – or to say
the first thing that comes into her mind.

She’s a lover of nature, a sensitive creature,
a child, but mature for her years.
Watching me now with eyes that ask how
much I love her,
how I’ll shape her,
who she’ll be.


Dhaka 2014



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