Poem Hunter


My father,
out of your seeds
emerged i,
millions of us swarm across the eggling waters
looking for her, that harbours
and, i the chosen morphed into fluids
...the races of life began at conception

dear mother,
days stumbled into months
egglings, from your womb harboured me
and the fluids formed into being
enshrouded in you, body and soul;
eating and sucking all day long
...this, is the making of me

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Comments (1)

This reminds me of Herbert Spencer's Survival of the Fittest theory, and it makes me proud of your skill too.