My Angel

As a child I was a fond admirer of the night,

Who bought silence with its tides,

Drowned the noise, within its twinkling light,

Some days the night brought along the moon,

Because he swept his wand over our shadowed cocoons,

To tell stories of twinkling stars and the packed constellations,

To drown into grandma’s random compilations,

To draw amongst them  bows, arrows, squares and hearts ,

With fairy’s and queens and horse driven carts,

The thumping of her hand over my head,

Her bangles  twinkled and clapped, against my senses to shed,

And, there I slept within her wrinkled hand,

Who wipped my tears everytime I failed to stand,

Hands of my angel, who taught me how to dream,

Who held me while she crossed her life’s final stream,

When I left her hand and started walking on my own I did not realize,

But she was still there, to silent my tantrum of cries,

I still am a fond admirer of the night,

As night brings me back my angel , from far off, a star twinkling bright.