granddaughter poem

My joy is colored pink and whispers Cadence Kerala,
A symphony by God composed, a masterpiece unplayed.
And yet with rhythmic tempo, emanating from her name,
I am mesmerized by movements respirating from her frame.

I hold my newborn granddaughter cradled gently in my hands
And marvel at the beauty of her sleeping innocence,
With placid face unstained by tears of joy or pain;
Nor furrowed by worries or things that are profane.

And as I gaze into the future through her eyes,
It takes me to a world that one day I’ll not know.
I imagine her smiling in sun drenched days to come
And squinting in the shadows to discern a distant drum.