How life writes its own story?
My vomit –
The ejected matter of my life,
Is been taken by another man!

How I wonder within me:
Vomit a woman several times,
There is always a man somewhere
Ready to gulp her down his throat!

True to the rumors,
Life grows in her and baby is born.
Yet, her mama died!
Thank God for the baby,
Her life would have been empty.

Several times over,
Have I try to purge her,
But my weakness fails me.
If life have not written its story,
Who would have claimed the baby?

Can the baby be truly mine?
…the baby of my vomit,
A baby after a story has ended.
How I wish not that the time is true.
Hopefully, though …

(15th September 2011)