Friday, October 30, 2009


Stranger, he knocked again,
who's that my son? Mama asked.
I was at work - seemingly,
too busy to feel the words,
nor her concerned eyes, aching womb.
Son, who was that? Again?

Silence... A deafening one,
Oh I can't lie to you my blood.
This ain't torture for you, it is me;
throw in a line, the son drifts.

Silence again... A deafening one;
lullaby soft, her voice chimes,
love, need, a worldly pull;
the stranger sleeps; for a while.

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