Baby

The pink slip is an end,
Two pink lines was a beginning,
Which trickled to a pink-patch chord
Cut from her bud, to usher
In first singularity – life.

And in that never-ending story
Of the most obsessive feeling, trapped,
Inside a palpitation-prone pink enclosure
A labyrinth of valves and vessels,
All in shades of pink,

Transforming the maternal science,
Of a pinkie held inside the tight grip
Of the tiniest palm,

To blossom a trans-generational memory
That is so indestructible,

Just like the pink panther,
– Stolen forever, in touch.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: