Profile of a Birthday

It’s a birth day. The previous night had gone to sleep, rolled away from our sight into the bosom of memory. The night, still enmeshed in the heat of longing, melts the anxiety of waiting. Now, in incremental space, we trek into the day, into its early seconds and minutes. Welcome, an excited greeting, seems to be the word in our hearts. I smile and wonder from keeping vigil, how lovely the day opens up to embrace the pollens of smiles, of goodwill, of warm wishes, of messages that seek for preeminence. And in keeping vigil, my weight lay beside on the bed, counting the hours, then the minutes and finally the seconds, thinking these thoughts, not wishing to ever let them be lost to the permanence of black ink on white sheet.
In a flash, the mind finds solace in yesterday, in the collection from Swatch and its crystals of glow. In my mind, there’s agitation, not of stress, but of soothing sensibilities that long to be part of the day in whatever measure the celebrant might choose. I must walk the day with a smile on my face, thankful that a trip, a chat, a wireless means of communication could conspire in a magical fashion to bring forth a day that distance cannot disparage, though work conspires to deny my presence.
I smile. Yes, a smile, one which I saw long ago and thought I could own and then took each step that leads towards her conquest. It’s a birth day. Though births do come in daily doses, we don’t celebrate births daily, nor do we embrace all births with same gleeful moods. Something about births defines our glee and I think it’s not the birth itself, but the person who’s born, whether into our homes or into our hearts. And this is one birth the heart embraces with smiles and love.
I’m awake to begin the day, arm in arm, to walk the day to its height of warmth. And when the day is done, I must look back, cuddled on my bed in sweet converse across the distance and declare “I miss you. I look forward to be back.” I love this, the simplicity, the genuineness, the inexplicable warmth that chastises my absence, making me miss the comfort of the celebrant. And then I see the portrait of you in my heart, a warm, glittering display, carved as a statue on a pedestal of gold for a pilgrimage of sort. It’s the portrait of an empress holding a flower and a chocolate cake, couriered and delivered promptly, a birthday memento. I’m now looking at it. The bright profile of a smile, scented upon a silhouette of sensual glow, smiling outright at me in poignant display and pageantry poise. Oh, the stare of the eye and the show of the dentist’s delights are complementary marks of beauty. I can feel my hand stretching out in prayerful openness to welcome the other’s and then clasps these, as two would kiss beneath the moonlit skyline. The happiness of the day empties itself into our hearts as we look forward to another November.


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