(and scene)
7th February 10
Autumn
His eyes crinkle at the corners
from years upon years of grins and smiles
and mischievous winks,
receding, now, into the crevices of his skin,
etched by fingers tracing and
eroded by water coursing
and numbered, painstakingly, pain-takingly
by the soft brown eyes of the pudgy
four-year old
perched on his stubborn thigh.
His teeth have seen too many turmeric days,
but not enough preschool plays,
and his hair,
turned gray,
turned white,
has almost bid farewell altogether
to his kingly forehead.
