Vilomah

Those young and new

Venture out amongst the world,

Leaving home and mother

With uneasy anticipation.

While I contradict,

A home I once possessed,

A home I could never abandon

But rather that which was taken from me.

A home, my home.

Not built, but grown

No, not a home in which to live

But a life it did hold.

A life created in my image,

Constructed within me,

Emerged from my womb,

Trusted to stand on her own two feet.

But climb back in, little joey,

Into your mother’s pouch,

For the world is not yet ready for your love

As its structure is overgrown with hate.

I held onto you, little joey,

For a moment, but not a moment too long

Before you were snatched from my bosom

And given your wings.

A day I will not soon forget,

Filled with inconsolable grief,

An endless wanting and desperate cries

With no ears to land on.

I let you go, reluctantly,

Cut our ties and watched you soar,

Knowing one day I would follow

To fly amongst the clouds with you.

Be patient, my darling girl, and I will do the same.

I will meet you on the shore line of paradise,

And take you by the hand, knowing then,

That I am home.