"Tale of a birth"

heartfelt

“Tale of My Birth”

It was a dark eerie night,
In the twilight’s heart
As dark gloomy shades descend,
A star lurks, hiding behind the moon’s
Dying light.

 

Below, the humming breeze buzzes
Whispering cold words.

 

The cloud retires, soft and slow,
Paving the way for the full moon’s glow.

 

Down in the basement of a little hut,
Darkness prevails, but candles flicker
Faintly.
Each rug, rags, all things in ruins,
Bear witness.

 

In the room, loud noises and screams
Fill the haunted chamber.
Tears mixed with moans stream
Down like a flowing river.

 

Two middle-aged women stand over her"
One screams, while the other mumbles
Curses, uncomforting,
As my mother moans in deep pain.

 

Her eyes grow frail with fatigue
As waters stream from beneath
Her short dress, soaked wet.
Blood flows like a pool.

 

Sweat streams like arrows
Down her wrinkled cheeks.
Her eyes narrow, sinking low,
Amidst urgent screams,
Lying in a deadly state.

 

Growing pale, chants and curses follow,
Still distressed.
Her eyes search, fidgeting at unseen things.

Hands grip tight on the sheets,
Spread down the sharp floors.

 

Grabbing a dress, still in distress,
Despite chants of curses
Streaming like poisoned arrows,
She presses on, undeterred,
Towards the door.

 

Alone,
Breathless, roaming in the dark night,
The streetlight bears witness.
The deserted cars see through
Their blind eyes.

 

Still weary, hopelessly moaning
In a pain that knows no bounds.

 

Her eyes find a stream of light
In the dark, hazy night.
She paddles breathless, beneath breath"
Baba, baba.
Silence surrounds, as
She mumbles in faint screams.

 

A man appears, beard locked,
Head bald, clothes worn thin,
Like weathered shores.

 

From his neck, wound by
Little red beads,
His hands wield a shawl, as strong
As an elephant’s skin.

 

Seeing my mother, he welcomes
On the bare floor,
With heightened trepidation"
Alarmed!
He crawls out,
Seeking what only the gods could know.

 

Returning, he hears tingles,
Almost deafened by the loud cries.
An infant tear, purely replies.

 

Still in apprehension of the strange
Expectant stranger,
He mutters a prayer to the Almighty.

 

That haunting night,
A child was born.

Reviews

[Snow_]

I just had another re-read. This actually does look good. Sorry for my everything maybe the night took a tool in me. It is a lovely poem.

[Tumi]

its find, it made me give the poem another thorough look, and making it a first person narrative, making reference to my Mother

[Snow_]

Oh i see. So you changed it. I failed to look sorry.

[Marie]

A very long, hauntingly poignant write, excellent narration with stark depiction. I feel the man who came forward to help saved both the child and Mother's lives. Thank you for sharing, Tumi...

[Pryde Foltz]

A haunting write. Giving birth is a metaphysical experience. You captured that well.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I guess it depends on perspective...as a reader I see the third person used because the speaker is almost trying to distance herself from her own birth...thinking there is something wrong with her, she may regret her existence. But it depends on perspective.
And I see the male responsible feeling that total insecurity, wondering after the birth what reaction the mother will have towards him.
Made me ponder...I like that.
j.

[Tumi]

thanks a lot for the review,
I'm glad you enjoyed reading