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Chandra S Nov 2019
As you lie on the creaky hospital cot,
there is a lot that can be thought
by listening to the uneven, rapid wheeze
and by looking at the hitherto unseen pallor
of your otherwise ruddy cheeks......

Many (im)possibilities can be perceived;
that a father I may never be;
that my father may never be
the same with me;
that you may well have entered
the last lap
in your race for that ever elusive
qualifying tag;
that come what may, one day
you shall really be a non-entity
and there may be only me
to see you lying limp and lifeless
just as you now seem to be......

Perceptions may not be real.
The only reality, is a single soul searching query:
Does any materialist passion
or for that matter, a self-effacing spiritualism,
allow anyone to cause the demise of the one
still huddled up in that warm,
allegedly safe darkness of anonymity?

Isn't a human life, howsoever insignificant it be might,
too much a price to pay
for even the rarest gain...
in this provisional little world
of putty clay?
Inspired by an abortion
Àŧùl Jul 2017
This earth is actually 1 nation,
It is 1 complex society.
My compatriots,
They don't desist from being real *****.
My countrymen,
They spit phlegm on any public road.
My landsmen,
They bias against the ladies apart from ****** them.
My fellow humans,
They break all of the traffic rules.
My own friends,
They have been so imperfect.
My friends are my world,
And I am not proud of this world.

I am an idealist who never had them,
The mythical permanent friends.

The human society is full of bigotry,
I read about female exploitation.
This awful male-dominated society,
I am amused on its insecurities.
That unlucky unborn female foetus,
I mourn its ****** before its birth.
My HP Poem #1637
©Atul Kaushal
Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.

The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.

Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.

From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to ****, pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.

In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.
If Foetus were able to have senses, they would have memories of their development and the day of birth.
Zainab Attari Apr 2014
A foetus home, like a cocoon,
For nine months is in a womb.
And soon it travels in the outer world,
A cranky and tender little baby girl!

‘The child gave birth to a mother!’
Uttered a nurse besides the doctor!
Hearing her baby’s cry,
The mother falls at ease and sighs!

She cuddles her child gently,
And the child falls asleep gradually.
Being overwhelmed she begins to weep,
As she watches her little angel sleep!

She is astound by natures grace,
How her flesh and blood she can embrace!
She praises the Lord for this miraculous day!
She thanks the almighty in each way.

-Zainab Attari

— The End —