Poem: The Chocolatey Offer

My little grand-niece came home yesterday. This poem is a tribute to her beautiful, little tantrums. She got comfortable just when they were leaving, and a bit of singing, ta-da, and waving bye.

Poem: THE CHOCOLATEY OFFER

AI rendition — young girl, singing voice.

‘Sing,’ I prod the child, ‘sing, sing, my dear’
Her smiling eyes meet mine, now frozen in fear
Eyelids flapping like butterflies over flowery eyes
‘Sing a bit dear, over this sweet chocolatey prize’

Words locked in her lips and a soft, gentle stare
Tempting prize for her sweet voice, the offer seems fair
Little fingers clutch her mother’s dress, a grip so tight —
Batting eyelids search her face, in childish fright.

‘Sing, my dear’ whispers coo in her ears ‘Sing, this once’
A firm nod, turning away, unsure yet sticking to her guns
A little battle fought in her little heart, with signs of tears
‘Don’t worry’ her mother hugs her, trying to calm her fears

Her mother unsure about this singing-for-chocolate offer
‘Thank you,’ she says; ‘let me try once more’ — I pester
‘Dear child, I came all the way, just to hear you sing, dear’
The little one turns, looking at me — then a smile appears.

‘It is true, dear; your voice will melt my heart indeed’
‘A fan of your music, dear; would you, my thirsty ears, feed?’
Her face blooms like the October marigolds, smiling and sure
A trickle and a torrent, her voice croons, melodic and pure

Soaking in the deluge of honey, I wonder about the pause
‘Why, this change of heart, and what was, for heavens, the cause?’
‘Oh my uncle dear,’ the little speaks — ‘I never sing for a prize’
‘I sang,’ the child says, ‘on your second offer, heartful and nice’

‘My voice shall be free and my soul shall attach no strings’
‘Soaring in the smooth skies, gliding like the eagle’s wings’
‘I love chocolates but not as a prize’, her wise words roll
Simple yet sagacious words like those in the yester scrolls

No art shall be prized, the offer tempting and chocolatey
True art spurts from the springs of freedom and spontaneity
Lessons from the little one of wise words and a voice of honey
Soulful and spontaneous –art has been, and will ever be.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

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