Skip to main content

ABORTION

Image credit: pinterest
My mother told me 
That I was almost aborted.
Her living situation when
She had me was painful,
But by then, it was too late.
I am a product 
of rejection 
And bad timing.
I'm trying to write myself 
Towards a day 
when I feel
I deserve  to be alive 
By choice, 
Not chance.

*******

About the author:

Yashodhaan burage is an upcoming writer, a blogger and legal educator. At present, practicing as a lawyer in Bangalore High court.

If you are looking for space to publish your literary work(s) kindly send your writing(s) to bariambredeemson700@gmail.com








Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I cannot say I remember

image credit: pinterest Then suddenly they showed the faces  The change had found where they lived  The names were replaced too quickly  They found where they were hid Circled in wagon filled tragedies  No one rides off to the west Attention now asks for a holiday  While famila is held to the test I cannot say I remember  Reading in foreign tongues  How I wish it were yesterday  And this world today was still young.
Post a Comment
Read more

Grief |Poem|

Grief /Poem Image credit: https//www. image search.com This is how I have dealt  With grief most of my life  sharing it on paper instead of humans It feels safe that way, words don't feign sympathy and paper doesn't stutter It makes the grief feel projected As if happening to another person, Not me, never me, never now As if I am a mere character in a distant story As if the grief will end after the full stop, after the end As if fiction will drown reality And reality seem fictitious  But of late, of late the fiction seems to be a maze A maze I have spent too long in A period longer than forever And now, it is too late to get out of and for human touch. If you like this poem or have anything to share, comment below or write at briambredeemson700@gmail.com
Post a Comment
Read more

YEARNING |POEM|

Picture source:www.IndiaToday.com Many gorgeous solid surface hath passed by; Where all the graceful flowers are blowing, Where all the wings are glorifying the skies, where all the dragon-flies are hopping with the river, When all the lands are praying for him. The season had succeeded to change I can't put the picture of what's that..? I'm speechless as a stone. As I filled the foreign land, I see the film was forming into night and thundering; Clothes were torn as dirty As I stood there by the bed; Under the foreign skies In winter hail and summer tempest. Besides this country; Sing thy ole school sweet. O, I remember thy mother repast luscious; The smile of dear on thy eyes The gentle cry of boys on my thine ears The memories of the thy brothers and sisters are precious; Yet unduty for my homeland, We put on hold, your dream-your-lives. Thou left thy mothers and thy fathers Thee left behind thy brothers and...
Post a Comment
Read more