Baby with a Complaint

Poem By Aamir shafat


Date: | Read: 231

Child is god in lap, glad and giggling'
Pure; pious ; an epitome of piety,
Children in divine wombs silently grow,
Sometimes some Easter to MarY born, 
Twine faced, double masked duo'
Two shades together of Eden bough'
One Mist Y dawn in the land of Reship, 
To noble parents an elfin charm gifted'
Betwixt two curlY tailed meteors'
A giggling star twinkling the dimples'
Loved like God in Eden'
Dressed in care , nursed with love'
His smile, the cause of sweet morning'
His frown the eclipse of black night'
Baby in venomous valley brought up'
Spoons of his milk replaced by bloody cup'
Breathing in virulent air'
With the moist odour of blood'
Death like a loud street hawker,
From door to door goes'
Till in the brooks of blood,
Corpses like paper ships sail'
When star crossed baby primed three'
Secret unzipped; souls in scrimmage of liberation,
Under the vast blue skY'
Town walls brushed red'
The ultra boiling conflagration sun'
For the bath visits the weeping eye'
In air mixture of groans,
Skies stitched with cries'
On bob wired streets blood of innocent lies'
Sipped from the straw of shimmering lips'
From the bowls of injured palms'
Pale Nazi trying maths on bodies'
From the regions of stabbed skin'
Bleeding wounds like lava erupt'
Till lips, blood of own wounds taste'
While in couch of lap, baby leaping lay'
To his father trying something to say'
There was a shot fired'
Fired bY the devil's child'
BY a gun of iron symmetry'
In the infant head of soft flesh'
Before the babY lips angelic words could tell'
From the lap of father it slowly fell'
Killed if cursed like Mingi in Ethiopia'
Till Ogre gunman like Jewish Dybbuk rejoiced'
Felt he battled an act of brave'
Rubbing the ashes of last lord'
On his coal mined forehead'
With the wish of whales dive'
In the stinking pool of mooing mother's urine'
"Said, stamp me with title and with ranks honour'
I saw the scissors of stone in their hands'
Cutting the nose from the map of India'
And its crown in boots wear'
They are not scared, nor shrilled by fear'
In blood of baby treachery flow'
Here in every child a militant grow'
Till In its own blood it swimming lay'
On the unfortunate dust,touched by cosmic ray'
With bleeding and bullet shot head'
Before the death,the last thing baby said'
When seven golden doors of heaven would open wide'
Where Moses, Jesus, Joseph, all reside'
How Young, old, babies fired hard'
I will go and tell everything to God!

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About Writer

Aamir shafat, India

B.A Honours ' English ' Amar Singh Collage
Pursuing P.G English Last sem' , K.U


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