Angel's Journey

My life began today

I am oriented to be a little ‘angel’ girl, as they say

With smallish brown eyes and a tiny nose,

I wish that’s just like mom’s

I am a secret, vast and epic

For it might break my parents

Into a world of beauty

When they learn of me: A creation aesthetic.

I have grown.

My limbs are a little big,

Yet too small I am;

Too tiny to do anything of mine

On my own.

But no worries,

For her, in whose interior I dwell

Does everything for me.

My mother is so good,

She does all for me.

Oh! My mouth has started to part a little.

A bit more into the my journey of life

I shall be laughing, smiling and talking!

Saying aloud my thoughts

And I know, my first word will be “Mummy”.

My arms and legs are taking shape,

Someday, on my own I shall be taking my baby steps.

And, mommy-daddy will be there at my rescue

At the right moment when I tumble.

It’s so funny

My now grown fingers are too tiny.

One day my mom will hold these fingers

And show me the shiny world outside,

And, when I try to free my hand from her’s in the crowd,

She'll be scared and restless

She’ll scold me angrily.

The doctor informed my mother

That I live within her, today.

She must be so delighted.

I think she has already told dad about it.

They must be making plans of my welcome now;

Thinking of how to hold me in their arms;

Planning to not scold me;

And deciding the limit of freedom they’ll allow.

I wonder what names are they thinking for me.

I wonder what dresses they’ll buy for me.

I wonder how strict they’ll be.

I wonder what the world outside will be.

Just a few more months

And then I’ll be out.

Is life too tough? I don’t know.

Mommy will be my care-taker and daddy, my guard.

And I?

I will walk through life soft and hard.

It had been 3 months and 17 days,

I had high hopes:

To face the world, to overcome every hurdle.

To feel mom’s tender kisses on my cheeks

And to receive the imagined hugs from dad in actual.

But, today my dear mommy killed me

Killing an angel’s life before it started,

Spilling water on the pages of the book of life which was never written.

I desire answers but, my voice has been killed to death

And, aloud it never came.