Those children celebrate uncertainty.
And out of the imperfect first steps,
They quickly thrive and learn, no love is earnest.
Fathers cry when planes disappear.
Worlds unite to search the heavens and oceans.
Nothing brings back the touch.
She became a part of the earth and dust.
A mother holds her baby boy close.
He had meant a lot of heartbeats.
Life inside the womb was longer than on earth.
Being still alive is no good than being stillborn.
Speaking at the funeral the father said,
“If you think burying a child is difficult, think again.
This was our second and only remaining child.”
Only untimely deaths make most of us remarkable.
It’s a conscious choice a hungry mother makes.
Poverty stays in the race.
As she trades her flesh for some meat and bread,
Honor and soul are left in the crumbs.
Children are eager to try their new wings.
The father lives on with longing.
In the mirror, the child of his youth mocks him.
Life makes growing old the most honorable thing.
Child bearers know nothing of the hara-kiri.
Those sons will go onto their final journeys.
All that’s left of them is pieces and blood, and
A mother with heart ripped out and fist in her mouth.
Walls hide happiness and love,
A few betray memories made in the dark.
When the father enters the bedroom,
A child loses her virginity.