Someone immeasurably dear turns thirty today. The thirty years say next to nothing about him (except for slightly hinting at his little paunch that I feel compelled to make a dig at whenever I sniff out even half a chance) and I find it rather difficult to define, compare or write about him. But, I try still…

you are

like one warm weary old sweater

that we always find place for in any cupboard we own

that we always seek out when we are cold

that we always treasure despite the areas torn

that we always get into after the show of gold

Happy Birthday, Da! You know I could think of enough and more instances that make each line true. And that is just so heartening.

the shine of the diamond
you were
cannot be stifled in the dead air
of the box
that closed oh so suddenly

for someone i never knew and think of almost everyday...

the turned page asks
for laws to be unwritten
for laughter to always be free
and the memories forever framed

staring at you
from the card
the black eyes of
the joker peer
your fingers
swift and sound
prioritize

the joker cries
as luck lies
you are just
a house of cards

A peering pair of brown irises.
I wonder. I wonder what you seek.
And so intently try to read.