Drifting birth

I saw a lady moving.
A haunting shadow,
Crossing the streets and treading hills
With a half damp picture
Of a little girl.

She seemed seeking
Men and streams
Lanes and graves
For her little one
Along the evening prayer.

Female in grey
Tramping in her ghostly gown
Bolt her breast and blast her womb
As she walks past,
the swaying stone bridge and
my swollen eyes,
To the valley
of broken desires.

The shadows she left
Over the thick dank fog
Gather to carve
A man of clay
Crouching over
A dead decaying log.

He was weeping
Over a reclaimed son
Drifting away
In his unshared memory.

The pale skinned man
Before the infant memory.
And set on a tune different
In an abduction camp.

It was raining outside
When I stepped in to
The chilling darkness
Of the theatre balcony

The corner seat I took
Gulped me in
to a distant land of
Barren breaths

The screen shivered
And minced
In its tale of
For childless rich.

One tale followed the other
With a mom, a dad or sister.

Moi is six and
Back with his mom
In his drought hit land.
Yet, when the clouds move on
Over his roofless home
He misses his foster mom.
Whom he lost
to blood and law.

After the spring
When the leaves fell
He left his mom
For his adopted home.

She lived on
With flies and pests
Until one day
She fell over
His father’s grave.

Out of focus
The subtitle read
“She screamed like an animal
spanning earth and sky”.


Max Babi said…
Whew. This is visceral, Lakshmi.
Like a series of blows in the solar plexus... it's a rare artist who can erase the line between reality and surreality. Amazing.
If I would have been the insanity that I am.... I would have loved the love of these words.. Love it seems it has, obnoxiously awaiting the death that it foresaw ......

The Poignant Sage

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