The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 5/10/09

"Born"

So this is his mother,
This small woman.
The gray-eyed procreator.

The boat in which, years ago,
he sailed to shore.

the boat from which he stepped
into the world,
into un-eternity.

Genetrix of the man
with whom I leap through fire.

So this is she, the only one
who didn't take him
finished and complete.

She herself pulled him
into the skin I know,
bound him to the bones
that are hidden from me.

She herself raised
the gray eyes
tht he raised to me.

So this is she, his Alpha.
Why has he shown her to me.

Born.
So he was born, too.
Born like everybody else.
Like me, who will die.

The son of an actual woman.
A new arrival from the body's depths.
A voyager to Omega.

Subject to
his own absence,
on every front,
at any moment.

He hits his head
against a wall
that won't give way forever.

His movements
dodge and parry
the universal verdict.

I realized
that his journey was already halfway over.

But he didn't tell me that,
no.

"This is my mother,"
was all he said.

~Wislawa Szymborska

:applause:

RL

What a perfect poem, not just for today, but for always...

Really lovely!

Thank you...

:hug:

It's nice to know I can still do perfect.