Tuesday, May 6, 2014


He was a real child
And he had a name.
But she never knew him.
She never once
Bounced him on her knees.
The milk of her breasts
Never ever filled
His tiny stomach.
Her son’s personality
Was either blank
Or whatever she wanted
To invent for him.
She saw his little face
In her mind
But she could not imagine it
Or ageing.
He was a ghost
In every sense.
No words were ever
Uttered by him.
The doctor had said
The baby was a bit sluggish,
And sluggish he remained
So sluggish
That he never cried
To be fed.
Nor did he reach out
To be cuddled.
His teeth were still
Dormant in his gums.
His eyes would never adjust
To the light of day
And the blackness of night.

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