Thoughts are born,
yet die thereafter,
nothing more satisfying,
than that of solemn touches of death...
a child,
a cursed blessing,
A mother,
A whored Vessel,
no child into bringing,
destroyed and defiled.
Never meant to be,
Left to finish what was started,
Braving the cold,
a womb-less warmth,
lost to life’s virginity,
seconds of breaths,
left it dying,
moments so short,
yet extended toward eternity,
An infant child,
besmirched and left thoughtless,
A child only born to be named death,
Reaping the benifites of final breaths.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem draws attention to various aspects of death..this time, an unwanted birth of a child whose fate is an early unattended death. A neonate left by itself to die on her own..tragic part of such life, she cannot complain even, as she's benefited to die so soon...Remarkable! ! !