You couldn’t
be born,
Angels
wanted you back
the minute you were conceived in your mother’s womb.
With your
leaving,
A part of their
own selves left.
They could
not bear a disintegration that huge.
You,
However,
Were born
and lived.
You lived
with part of you always hanging
in between
old serenity and young despair.
The roof of
your existence was dented,
The apparition
of a rainbow leading you to the beyond.
And below?
You always
knew,
They were
all living below you.
This
repugnant conceit you were born with.
Poet
you
are.
Day and
night on end.
