At forty-past nine at night
She arrived
Pratibha, mirroring
The gracious grace
Of her star-spangled hour
Of birth 
It drizzled benediction
On a long, long parching earth
That soon received 
Showering bounty
Of pure pluvial compasion
Breaking the adamant sky
Her divine cry
At birth
Her infant invocation
To heaven
At once ended the sterile sadness
For us all 
Her face, a rounded grace
Of gift
Her eyes, the reflector
Of her stainless soul's light
Of pure radiance
And her silken dark hair
On her dainty head
Invite the gaze of all
As
She kicks her limbs
Unshackling all inertia
To dissolve the ills of life.