And then the passage, nothing could be harder than that, many a smart fetus will not be willing to take it, they would request an easier way out, 'rather cut mommy's tummy please'. But no this fetus decided to bear it all, and with mixed hopes, with faint recollections of comforting touches and mellow sounds, it starts the quest. it sees the light at the end of the tunnel, fills it with hope and excitement, but now something is killing it, these sounds 'oh they are not dulcet anymore', 'no someone's shrieking', and 'why does it smell so different' and then something starts pulling it out, it hurts 'Ouch', and the it goes like 'was it good idea?', 'i think i was was better off there'. then it doesn't want to come out, but then its now in alien hands, it has no choice..
Suspended upside down, alien pair of hands tapping its back, others looking at its private parts, categorizing it and then the vigorous tap, it regrets, finally breaks into a cry,
'mistake, mistake. i wanna go back',
'too late now'
'but i just wanted to see what's outside'
'so you will'
'but i don't want to anymore, please let me go back to my uterus'
'na-a, not happening, thats not your uterus, thats your mom now, you will rush to her occasionally, though Freud thinks you'll eventually be in love with your father and envy your brother, wait you don't have one yet'
'who's freud, who's father, who's brother'
'you'll know'
'let me go back go back :(('
'too late kid', the hands say, handing it over to some other pair of hands, 'go suck'
So it happens that somewhere around this day, 24 years earlier, I accidently took a bite of the apple of knowledge, and left my eden. They tell me the exact day celebrating my fall happens to be 21st Feb. By some smart design they kept the first two labels of all days in a circular order, so they can remind me of the mistake I made after every earth's revolution about the sun.
belated wishes for the birthday! ---shefali. And I do read everything you put up here and yes your poetry is beautiful.. luv and all the good stuff
ReplyDeleteThank you :). Silent whispers should at least allow space for comments! You like the poetry, serious? I don't know, there are things I write in a completely altered state of mind and then later, I find it hard to relate to them myself - a sort of distance from my own child, an instance of me, but not me.
ReplyDeleteAnd when someone reads them - at a certain plane of understanding, an instance of me falls squarely over an instance of this reader. Maybe thats the echo of poetry, resonance of prose. As art, they are always ours not mine.
It is if it were like creativity had an existence outside us .. it touches us for an instance and leaves us wondering..but maybe the spirit does not leave the lines and here I read them with my manifestation of the creativity that touched you momentarily. (And I don't flatter people .. so I did like it :))
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