Son

A tumour grows today,
In the place where you grew…
There will be more blood,
Than which I fed you…
Will your hands,
Fully formed today
Wipe the stains away,
I asked.

No, you sentenced me to be carried away
Through the gutter’s length
In the backyard of my daughter’s house.
You stole from me, my right to leave
On a palanquin, through the front door,
Of your house, my wretched Son!
You are the tumour that,
I bred with so much pride.

You were my Son.
And I am your Mother.

Reviews

[amarlaksh]

wow, so much raw emotion. Loved it from both the heart and brain. Thank you

[Aruna Iyer]

haha glad it made both parties (the heart n the mind) happy :)

[Sid]

Whoa, hard hitting this, is it really your son you are talking about here? I pity the poor bloke, though I don't know the circumstances here. Anyways about the poem it's got a raw, hard hitting feel to it and it's quiet emotional too...good work!!

[Aruna Iyer]

It's hard hitting that you think I ve a son!

[Aruna Iyer]

But, hey thanks :) Im glad the frustration of the mother is as evident as intended!

[Sid]

Haha, fiction I take it! Sorry ;)

[Aruna Iyer]

I forgive unlike mothers...

[Sid]

It sure is and I guess sons can really turn, can't they?

[Sid]

Wtf, I meant "I guess sons can really turn out that way, can't they". I think I'm too sleepy now, I missed 3 words there, damn!!

[Sid]

Hehe, glad to know, I'm forgiven!!

[Aruna Iyer]

and daughters are expected to turn...the perks of being a woman...what can I say?

[Sid]

:D by the way I think I should sleep now, if I don't I'd probably zonk off while typing, so good night and take care :)

[Aruna Iyer]

Good night! :)