A scared child writhed in his mother’s arms,

He learnt to draw blood from her breast and not milk,

His brow and feet are dotted in kohl,

To protect him from covetous eyes and black-spotted tongues

His first breath is of incense and not air,

The moon waxed and waned as the tide ebbed and flowed,

Until he could enter society when his head was washed clean,

With holy water by the hands of an unclean man

The cord that tethered him to safety is torn and rotten,

The world he once knew was gone,

As air filled his lungs and blood gushed through his little veins,

His mother held him close to her chest

This was her duty fulfilled,

Her husband’s blood and her gift to the world,

He already had a purpose,

He just didn’t know it

As teeth sprouted from his gums and words spewed from his mouth,

He knew he’d never be able to fulfil what was expected of him,

The womb he once knew was gone,

Withered and forgotten

He is too big for his mother’s arms now,

And so he has decided to sink back into the earth,

For if he closed his eyes,

Was it really any different from the darkness of the womb

Cover image by Gigin Krishnan on Unsplash. The copyright of this piece belongs to the author of this literary work.  

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