A Mother’s Synagogue Of Sin Poem by nusrat jahan

She was just four months old
When the woman first saw her,
Her little toes were blurred in crimson red,
And her cheeks despite being pink felt so cold.

The woman could feel that she was breathing
But almost inaudible to ears,
Her tiny chest was going see-saw
And that slowly revealed the story of her being.

‘She moved her fingers! ’ The woman muttered
But went unnoticed by others,
The woman wanted to go near to her sapling like body
That was laid in somewhat forced stupor as she feared.

Guilt burdened her soul and refused to accord
Strength to her cursed tongue for prayers,
‘She was secured inside the placenta’ the woman mused
But it was the mother who wanted to get rid of the umbilical cord.

The woman and the mother both looked at each other
Only to find one reflection enmeshed and embedded into a whole
Mocking, jeering in sheer despair!