The unborn

 The baby moves, impatient

 to see the birds, the open fields

 about which its mother sings


 A small, wrinkled bundle

 budding tiny arms and feet

 that will one day, run down the hill

 racing against the breeze 


 But little one, when you finally come

 I want you to feel wanted

 to be born into arms,

 willing to cherish your dreams

 The joy of your birth, a shared celebration

 the blood, the tears, a complete rain


 Wait, for you might yet get it all

 if one day the sun turns around

 shining its light upon your eager shape

 letting you escape to find your place


 Yet I fear for you, little one

 for the armies of the baseborn

 proliferate rapidly

 as we both wait for your release.

©Reena Prasad  6th Sept. 2012

published in Brian Wrixon’s book “A poet’s view of being” on 16th oct 2012


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