A mother,
Jolted-scared,
<Shook>,
Longs for the love of,
The child not yet grown.
Promises of potential,
Patter like drumbeats,
Singing the searched song:
“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”
Deaf to the knocking,
Rat-a-tat-tat-ing sneakily to her doorstep:
“Mother hear me and fear me, dearly.
For I am a changed man,
From the baby-I’ll-be,
To Man-unfortunately-known.
I am a tethered kite:
Born to fly,
But doomed to wait.”
The flightist,
Tapped out,
Retreats cautiously,
Hop(p)ing towards non-disturbance,
Regret begging him for a glance;
Ignored.
Gluey tears streak,
(Slowly and shirtlessly).
Across mine visage,
Broken by abrupt decay:
(That is to say,
The death sentence accompanying dismissal.)
Un-shattering written-off offerings,
Melding together a tapestry of muddled origins.