You are the drop of dew,
After a long journey through
the seemingly never-ending desert.
Surviving a summer,
blistering through the heat,
as I reach some kind of oasis
to find Gods reaching our to me,
with their heavenly hands,
handing me over
a sweet, tiny figure,
which stares at me with a toothless, trusting face.
It is in fact, less of a face,
beyond the softness of tiny palms,
beyond the gums
pink in anticipation of teeth yet to emerge,
beyond the unsure arms
stretched towards m.
It is the promise that those blue eyes
hold for me,
The promise which my daughter whispers to me
through softly spoken mono-syllables
"Even though I may not understand
a word of the gibberish you people seem to speak,
I understand you, baba,
the way you have never been understood before,
I am the happiness of the opera
that dawns on the audience,
after the fat lady has sung."