What should I tell you and tell you not
For what should I write of my Little Brat

Need I tell
Of her curly hair and her talking hands
Of her naughty smile and all the errands
On how much she lets her eyes talk
And walk her mother's penguin walk

She runs giggling to my open arms
And sings to God of Donald's Farm
And how when I go for my daily bath
Appa Appa Appa she goes non-stop

How she braves the dark of the night
With my made up stories by her pillow side
On my shoulder she likes to sleep
To a filmy lullaby she makes me repeat

How she holds in the cup of her eyes
Tears and laughters and her pretty lies
How ' घाबरतें ' is her go to word
Be it cat, Ravi Mama or a bowl of curd

My rustic pen is but a hollow reed
I can't put all the colour this poem needs
Walls and faces to paint with heart
Krisha is teaching me this merry art


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