Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet


I didn't know who was his mother; the irrefutably sacrosanct womb which had evolved his impeccable contours, 


 


I didn't know who was his father; the revered principles of which; circulated faster than white lightening in his tender veins, 


 


I didn't know what was his name; the initials he incoherently embossed with his immaculately sweet little fingers, 


 


I didn't know what was his birthplace; the color of the cradle that must have witnessed his overwhelmingly surreal mischief, 


 


I didn't know what religion he belonged to; the inexplicable conglomerate of scriptures that were chanted on him; when he was just born, 


 


I didn't know the exact date of his cherished birth; the exact second when even the God's in the Universe must have inevitably stooped down to witness his


Omnipotent grace, 


 


I didn't know the words which he might have uttered just a minute ago; the rhapsodically innocent voice which must have incredulously enlightened the pallid


atmosphere, 


 


I didn't know what were his likes and dislikes; the games he adored the most; the delicacies he delectably nibbled with his freshly protruding jaws, 


 


I didn't know what was his shoe size; the fabulously spongy rubber which tickled him voraciously on his diminutive feet, 


 


I didn't know what were the fantasies circulating through his vulnerable mind; the dream floating ebulliently in his inconspicuously beautiful brain cells, 


 


I didn't know who was his sister; the tiny angel who incessantly frolicked with him in the corridors of unsuspectingly playful fantasy, 


 


I didn't know why was he crying indefatigably; the things that mattered the most 


to his mesmerizing heart, 


 


I didn't know the identity of his naughty friends; the robust chinned tiny stalwarts with whom he spent countless hours every single day, 


 


I didn't know the marks on his flesh since he emitted out his first cry; the spots which bestowed him with astronomical good luck in every unfurling aspect of


life, 


 


I didn't know the school he went too; the clay which he fondled with in his magical palms; to chisel the most alluring shapes ever conceivable on this planet, 


 


I didn't know the hours which he went off to sleep everyday; deluging the ambience with baby snores; which were infact larger than the chapter called life, 


 


I didn't know the amount of milk he consumed; the fraternity of taste besieging 


his daintily darling tongue, 


 


I didn't know what was the dwelling he inhabited; the celestial paths he transgressed; as he bounced uninhibitedly under the flaming Sun, 


 


I didn't know what was his destiny; the uncanny map of lines embedded on his mystically immortal palms, 


 


And although I didn't know anything about him; I still could sacrifice my life for him and infinite more of his kind this very instant; as he was Gods most precious creation; would always be loved for centuries unprecedented as a little child.



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God`s Most Precious Creation

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