The Birthday Boy

The Birthday Boy

By Jessy Jacob

A mother stood before her little boy,
getting her five-year-old ready with joy.
She washed his tiny face with care,
combed and fixed his soft black hair.

She changed his clothes so neat and bright,
and dusted powder soft and white.
Then her eyes paused with tender grace
on the birthmarks upon his cheeky face.

Four or five little black dots there lay,
like tiny stars that chose to stay.
She counted each one with a smile so wide,
holding her precious boy with pride.

“How many dots you have, kanna!
You are looking so handsome today!”
she said softly as she straightened his tie
and the little blazer his Appa bought nearby.

It was his fifth birthday —
a day of laughter, light, and cheer.
The little boy’s excitement danced
as all his dear friends gathered near.

His eyes grew round at every gift,
his smile brighter than the cake’s sweet glow.
His mother had decorated every corner —
balloons floating high and low.

Colorful caps and sound flutes lay scattered,
little joys all around the room.
She prepared sweets with loving hands,
filling the house with festive bloom.

Then came the moment everyone waited for —
the birthday song filled the air.
The little boy cut his lovely cake
with happiness shining everywhere.

The very first piece his Amma fed him,
with eyes overflowing in delight.
Then Appa gave another piece,
making the moment warm and bright.

One by one the children gathered,
laughing, smiling, taking cake.
And in that tiny crowded room
lived a memory time could never take.

— Jessy Jacob