Who says, I am a celibate
or have no children of my own?
Each of the poems I have written
is either like a daughter or a son
and this quill you see in my hand
is my woman until death claims my life!

See that stretch of paper, that is our bed
where I make love to her and she
seems to be forever high on estrus
and her gestation is hardly
longer than a few hours at most
and a few days for one or two!

Unlike the male mammals and humans too,
we are together, toiling through
hand in hand from conception to the sprout!
Once born I post its picture on the cloud,
then the paper bed is turned to its cradle,
until age renders the same as its grave!




9 thoughts on “A Poet’s Family

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s