The Secret Of Creation Poem by lalitha iyer

The seed is shy
and so modest it is
that it does not shows
that it is the giant tree
that touches the sky
and spreads branches
shading a battalion
and nesting a million
with leaves uncountable
and fruits immense
loaded with children
at the top branches
swinging and dancing
a house of greens
with the mound of mud
heaped between her coiled hair
rooted deep down with lust
for water and wealth of crust
in this world
all fullness endowned
the seed is silent
it is never showy
never does it speaks for
it's greatness or pride
yet, how cheap we humans
with little knowledge
and few sensibilities
verse about the secrets of creation
when god in his grace
draws these lines
upon the electronic face
just to make us happy
and soothen our childish cries
the sperm little did it knew
that the egg is going to steam it
and stimulate to the symphony
of survival of the fittest
just to kindle the urge to reach
and outwit the competing millions
neither the ovum could comprehend
that the silly tailed little being
is such a creative monster
that in one blast it will pursue
and break open its breasts untouched
and that the world of wombs
a sudden discovery
will become a truth of lives
that a being of beauty it will confine
in its eternally unfound bounds
going down, oh, going down
and reducing self to the spermovum idea
some worm wriggles down my spine
and then, and then,
before that, before that
will you share that before I end.