It makes me sick
Sick of your perennial presence-
A never-ending pain,
Would never know if
It is the kind that
They call labour pain
While a woman delivers
A baby!
Since that first touch
On the first day of Spring,
At that dark corner of my heart
You kissed so warm
With the delightful rays from
The moonlit night
While there was none to intrude
Into my shy loneliness
And you silently broke into
My untouched corridor
Of secret longings
And inseminated my womb
Of creative urges.
After that moment,
The passing moment of ecstasy
I was perplexed
Like an innocent teen girl
If I was impregnated.
A baby inside me?
A poem deep within?
When do I deliver it then?