Notes for the readers: An experimental poem in four distinct segments, this poem has won the title of the ‘most creative’ piece in a writing contest hosted by Writerscafe.org. I started writing this piece in November 2009 as a sweet, feel-good gift for my daughter’s first birthday. But as the poem started unfolding in my mind, it didn’t remain a piece exclusively for me and my baby. Now, I dedicate this piece to all mothers and babies of the world, to unwanted motherhood, to starved orphans and to the throbbing life that resurrects in our Mother Earth amidst the suffocating agony of hunger, decay and the debilitating pain of humanity.
Child of delight, offspring of love
In this coarse life amidst stone, sand and soil,
I behold the softness of your misty sleep.
You float on the dreams of a silvery stream in Wonderland,
I kiss the beauty of your liquid sounds, your lifting smiles.
In whispers and living lullabies, I drink your life,
Carry your warm breath, fragrance and melodies
Show your tranquil light.
Mother of darkness, mother in gorging flames
Within you, I seek no flame of rebellion, no reformation;
I’ve walked my life on tattered soil and blackened streets,
Crumbling, decaying and scattered in dust.
Grinding and groaning in the curling smoke of memory,
I’ve sensed the skeleton of your growth,
Floating around quivering shadows of dirt and lies.
A petal bloom in glory, lust and greed of shivering nights
My heart pumps blood for you to wrap you around me,
To grow inside me, cold, parched, starving orphan.
I’ve held you in the wintry chill of thousand midnights
Endlessly waiting for a thousand splendid sunshines.
In whispered worlds of crimson blood, gore, sobs and sighs,
I seek the scarlet bliss of your blood,
A flickering flame of your shrieks awakens me.
Innocence screams, pain dances in a hungry earth
A wispy wind uttering secrets at night,
Soft murmurs hovering over a silent earth,
Howling voices of haunted longings and despair,
Scars deep in the soul, muttering and whispering
Rumors and pain.
The red rose wounds of battered infants dying
And living, breathing pain on streets of cold….
I stand alone among heaps of discarded dirt,
In a wasteland of screaming silence and barren shadows
And listen to the lullabies of a soft baby skin,
Straining through the solemn frost of a stony earth,
I follow the voice of an angel carrying divine autumn whispers;
Crossing lonely, dark streets, a sob breaks from my chest
To see a fallen tear, the want of an embrace,
The warmth of tiny fingers in soft caresses
Crushed in brittle dust.
Life ahead: calling the golden girl, calling the hapless kid.
Blessed be the breast that cuddles, milks and aches,
Blessed be the darkness of empty chests and frozen pain.
Blessed be the crimson blood of the cherubic babe
Seizing its way through dark corners of the heaving womb.
Blessed be the smile of the little boy that dances in the rain
In rasping joys, in the city streets of scarlet pain.
Blessed be the flickering flames of innocent lives
Crushed and battered by bullets under azure skies.
Mothers giving nectar and tender beds of care
Mothers giving the softest music and rhythm of life
To sleepy eyes, fragile bodies and rosy red cheeks
Dissolve in shadowed rooms in a stormy deluge.
In a different deluge, endless mothers breathe and live
In streets of cold, with cracked lips and despaired tears.
Blessed be their feet that walk through sand and freezing ice.
The life that lies ahead in a soiree of blossoms for the golden girl,
Calls out the hapless kids hidden in dust and tears.
Calls out in hunger, eagerness and pain.