T for Torn.

In response to the a to z challenge

A fist, tiny, of an infant
Squeezing tightly, clutching with dear life
A small gathering of stardust.
We are bound, to the infinite, floating,
Eyes wide, shut- curled up
A foetus, or a baby- depends on who you ask.

Wisps of hair, shrivelled skin, coiled to take up the least of spaces, yet oh but yet
The bulbous head pushing, stretching, the organs of our very creator, smashed and pinned into the corner.
Slowly, steadily, pushing ourselves out, towards our end, tearing through protective membranes, feeling the waves crash down from under us.
Squeezing through, the light at the end of the tunnel-
To the fabled other side.

But something still clings, to us
Pumping, choking, atrophying-
Till someone comes and snips it off,
Two giant blades, blood and snap!
Our ties to the other world is gone.

We lie, in a coffin, under the beaks of scavengers, on a pyre-
Or in a hospital bed, exhausted, spent, between two bloodied thighs;
All of us the same
Begin, ending- death, birth-
Torn from us, the choice, the remembrance of stardust.
We are the children of the universe,
Isolated, cocooned,
Being born each day, and dying inside,
Unaware of where we came from, and where we are headed.


2 thoughts on “T for Torn.

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