To the sanity in me, this seems insane. To the insanity in me, this seems absurdity. But to the self in me, this seems so true.
I often dream of a mother at a hospital, all in white talking to her baby in a cradle. It is a girl child. I dont know where I got this vision, but this sight keeps me troubled. I dont dream during the nights. These are visions that occur during times when the physical body is awake and the mental self is in a journey inward. The mother - She is beautiful and has lines of worry all around her face. The mother, longer hair, stronger frame, but is faintly familar. A face that I get to see only twice a day in the mirror. She is in a conversation with herself. I have faintly tried to record this conversation today.
She opened her petal eyes. Her breaths were small, leveled and measured. The upheavals on her tummy, my palms on it and the vibration of her breath that reverberates all over me - I could not believe it is going to be her last few moments here. She is so tiny, so beautiful and so delicate. She was my dream for months. I had swallowed strips of pills thinking of her minute fingers that my nutrients shall run into. I have followed every advice I heard – sat through long nights when I was unable to turn sideways, and had him hold me to the sides. There she is – all ready to leave me forever. Her feet rose in color and slender in structure. Her hair, curly and dark seemed to be tangled in its own misery. Her face – speckles, Her fingers, long like mine and red with blood. My brain wondered why all that blood could not run to her small thumping heart. My daughter – 3 days old is on her death bed, her cradle. I have cried enough for her, bearing her in my womb for 3 months knowing her end is in her third day.
Enough of trails and tribulations, Enough of prayers and priests and Enough of machines and tubes – Just let my baby go. She needs to get back to her home, and feel safe. I cant bear to see the pain that she endures every time someone speaks about her death. I am unable to stand that I have not yet named her, and yet find her as mine. I need you back darling. Come back safe Maya.
I dont know where I picked it up from. But I hope blogging about this releases this in me. I only hope I have enough strenth to face whatever comes through.
This blog is meant to be purely reflective to myself. Like a mirror.
I often dream of a mother at a hospital, all in white talking to her baby in a cradle. It is a girl child. I dont know where I got this vision, but this sight keeps me troubled. I dont dream during the nights. These are visions that occur during times when the physical body is awake and the mental self is in a journey inward. The mother - She is beautiful and has lines of worry all around her face. The mother, longer hair, stronger frame, but is faintly familar. A face that I get to see only twice a day in the mirror. She is in a conversation with herself. I have faintly tried to record this conversation today.
She opened her petal eyes. Her breaths were small, leveled and measured. The upheavals on her tummy, my palms on it and the vibration of her breath that reverberates all over me - I could not believe it is going to be her last few moments here. She is so tiny, so beautiful and so delicate. She was my dream for months. I had swallowed strips of pills thinking of her minute fingers that my nutrients shall run into. I have followed every advice I heard – sat through long nights when I was unable to turn sideways, and had him hold me to the sides. There she is – all ready to leave me forever. Her feet rose in color and slender in structure. Her hair, curly and dark seemed to be tangled in its own misery. Her face – speckles, Her fingers, long like mine and red with blood. My brain wondered why all that blood could not run to her small thumping heart. My daughter – 3 days old is on her death bed, her cradle. I have cried enough for her, bearing her in my womb for 3 months knowing her end is in her third day.
Enough of trails and tribulations, Enough of prayers and priests and Enough of machines and tubes – Just let my baby go. She needs to get back to her home, and feel safe. I cant bear to see the pain that she endures every time someone speaks about her death. I am unable to stand that I have not yet named her, and yet find her as mine. I need you back darling. Come back safe Maya.
I dont know where I picked it up from. But I hope blogging about this releases this in me. I only hope I have enough strenth to face whatever comes through.
This blog is meant to be purely reflective to myself. Like a mirror.
Wow! well written but heavy! hope it stays as a vision, and does not turn into reality.
ReplyDelete