Womb Poem by Plabita Bhaskar

Walls of her womb,
To gently rest.
Knotted to her, by an umbilical cord.
My first breathe occurred in that tender suburb.
A mother's womb, is the first place to be.

To breathe in tune
And smile as she,
Would softly touch my shell.
And rock and cradle and chuckle joys.
Inside her womb, I would grow and dwell.

A mini little soul.
Merry within.
Sipping the goodness of life.
When pulled out, it wasn't,
Wasn't the same.
Reality is grave and far from benign.

So was I chased from kindergarten
To high school concrete to closed life bars,
Rubbed against the ruggedness,
Ripped and vanquished.
Throttled, trodden and flawed.

It wasn't the same,
When life occurred.
The womb was safe to be.
Still threadbare, famished and bereaved,
Her gentle pat, spell wonders on me.

Battled and moonstruck,
With scars around,
Life has ample to feed.
But beneath her umbrageous serene glade,
Touchy-feely my desolate soul,
Cradles to life and breed.

My quenched inner soul,
Oh! Well it knows,
Her womb, it still is,
In doom and darkness,
I mildly feel.
When she gently cups, my lovelorn cheeks,
And caress with hugs and kiss.