Where would life foetus breathe?
On the cross —
Holding my two arms on the gestation
Of her cardia;
That tender soul warming my temple
out of the womb, decorated with floral(s)
and unwritten care seen through her eyes…
I’m in the depth of how we were mould
Without her welcomed clay,
Would we have been buried
Without accustomed name?
Or the letters written on our palm
Be handicapped and our vocal world muted?
Then, she once restored the faded petal
By its sweetness –savored
In the drizzle, rain and storm…
And now, am I helpless whilst she’s away,
Fearless after a million lone cry…
Where does life foetus breathe
When I won’t be fed with her milk?
©Natur’s Pictur N’quill 2017.