Of fathers and sons

One of the projects that’s been taking up a lot of my time has to do with just this: fathers and sons. It’s a huge project which, while it hasn’t come out yet, has to be kept under wraps (have to sit on my hands and do a jig to stop myself from shouting it out to you, my friends! 😆 )… but I was inspired to write this poem. I should probably mention here that I normally shy away from sharing my poems as they come from such a raw, vulnerable part deep inside of me… but I dare to write it here because you, my dearest friends, make me feel safe. (And that’s the best way I know how to express my trust and affection for you) 🙂

Hope you enjoy it…

Magallan stock.xchng photo

The Legacy of Ripples

They amble in quiet cadence

hand in hand

to the edge of the lake.

His chest swells with quiet pride

as the little one bends down

by the water’s mouth

And gently, carefully

sets sail to the paper boat.

Together they watch it,

this newspaper ship,

as it glides across the glassy surface

till it is but a dot in the distance.

Looking down,

he spots a stone

hidden in the blades of grass.

He picks it up.

Winking at the little one,

he hurls the piece of earth into the still water,

the little one’s gaze fixed on that rock

flying through the air

landing with a plop into the water

quickly descending into the bosom of the lake,

leaving only a trace of its presence, its weight, its impact

in the ripples that begin round its exit point,

little waves, slowly but surely

moving, w i d e n i n g ,  e   x   p   a   n   d   i   n   g ,

reaching out like embracing arms

till it almost touches the foot

of the little one

who stands in awe, mesmerized, entranced.

The son looks up at his father,

smiles and tucks his tiny hand

into the work-worn one.

They walk away silently,

but the ripples are seared into that young mind.

Many sunrises after,

the memory of the quiet soft waves

will accompany him when he returns

to this very place

With another tiny hand in his own grown grasp

as together they stand by the water’s edge

and watch the same ripples begin again…