Everyone one of my friends has kids.
Some 2 and others 3.
Its almost always more than 1.
Like everyone wants
A company or crowd
But never a monocyclist
Or a string quartet.
And my wife and I, we plan
To bring one rug rat to the world.
Who will run circles around us,
And make our blue veins,
Surface like gorgonzola cheese,
And still give us 4 hours of uninterrupted
Sleep each night. And we will paint
Blue when the doctor looks at
An ultrasound and tells you
It’s a boy. My father will be happy
The Gunawardana name will gallop
On for one more generation.
And still we fear the one.
Would we over pamper him and make
Him into a selfish thorn or worse
A clown and crowd puller.
Perhaps he will be a bubble boy
Taking, like his father, 37 years to kiss a woman
Or maybe by the time he is 18
He would know the underside
Of a sanitary pad better than
The old man knows.
And life is about that challenge
When we know when to give in
And when to say no, when to spur him on
When to let him make his own decisions.
He will perhaps become a doctor
Who will spend his time ferrying babies out
Or perhaps he will become a playboy
Giving ammunition to the apple
That can fall far from the tree, or maybe
He will be as gay as a Mars bar
I mean, aren’t men from Mars?
And we will look at the wonderful
And not so wonderful things he would do.
Like climb Machu Pichu, impregnate his girlfriend,
Walk from tip to toe of Sri Lanka for charity
Or get a drunk-driving ticket. We will still
Love him, like when we did that day
When he climbed out of his little hiding spot
And made us the happiest parents on earth.
And love can only be colorblind, when
We will talk about the birds and the bees
And that sometimes, Adam is with Steve
And not Eve and that the greatest mysteries in life
Are only self-determined and sovereign.
Like why we live, laugh, love and finally surrender.
And there are no clear answers
To most questions in life
And looking at my wife bloated
Like an elephant in a circus, I can only feel
The love I have for her, when Elephantine
Would be an understatement.
And have you seen a child show with his arms
How much he loves mummy and daddy
And still we adults can never draw the magnitude
Or the shape of love. Perhaps it is as big as Jupiter.
Perhaps it is as perfect as the full moon.
Perhaps it is shaped like a mango
Perhaps we will never know.
Love can do no more
Than love beyond condition
And that needs no measurement or formula
It is the unenviable keystone
Between two beings. Love is just
That thing you do to transcend existence
When she holds you like a crab’s claw
A place you can never cede or lose
Holier than a pilgrim’s lair
The perfect anarchy of the storm
In your flesh, that summons you to the eye.
To look through and be capsized
To the secluded bliss
Of one Eden.