You get back home weary from shocks,
You being impotent is not your tension,
But how two kids at home call you dad,
Basis of all your tensed thoughts is this,
Your wife still has two kids if not yours,
Your wife has the explanation to make,
May God curse the lying life of your wife.
You just get back home & draw your gun,
You load the fresh magazine in midnight,
Breathing long you put your feet silently,
But the door is ajar and she is fast asleep,
Your (or hers) children in the next room,
Your fingers tremble & you've flashback,
Many memories zoom through your mind.
You decide to use the pillow as a silencer,
You now calmly hold the pillow over her,
Breathing cautiously now you are unsure,
But her infidelity isn't what you expected,
Your heart tells you to introspect yourself,
Your mind changes after thinking about it,
Multiple times yourself have been cheating.
You pause & change your mind about her,
You have the gun now point at your own,
But now you see her stirring in her sleep,
Breaking from her sleep for water she is,
Your presence scares her to the hell now,
Your gun pointed at your heart she sees,
Mighty strength she gathers to ****** it.
You grunt and push her away from you,
You whisper, "Why did you cheat me?"
Before she replies to your weird charge,
Barked again yourself in a low whisper,
"Your children are not mine now I know,"
"Your husband is technically impotent!"
Maybe she understood everything now.
You remember that she is a policewoman,
You see her unload the gun and discard it,
"The children - both - are test tube babies,"
"The **** was mine and fertilized in vitro,"
"Your ***** was used artificially as well,"
"Your DNA from your own hair was used,"
Might have she followed the procedure.
It seems possible & you regret your actions,
But she just smiles & forgives you heartily,
"It's okay darling, I kept it secret from you,"
"It's really a cute face you've put up now,"
You now wish to sink down into the floor,
"You would forgive me for doubting you,"
Must be an angel to let you sink your head into her *****.
Part 2/2
A biotechnologist's scientific poem.
HP Poem #1157
©Atul Kaushal
