Kallu’s Delivery

She has never been exposed
to the expensive tests of
the hypocritical hospitals.
She chooses the underneath
of a mango tree.
Bright rays fall down-
as though from the lamp
in a delivery room-
through the gaps in
the canopy of leaves.

Kallu, my mom’s pet goat,
lies on the dry sand.
Her neck stretches
till the South Pole.
And her back legs
bend like the bows.
Murmur of leaves is heard
instead of a midwife’s whisper.
A soft bleat rises now
like the shoot of life.

Kallu’s tongue vacuums
all the stains of an old sin.
Broken umbilical cord hangs
like a symbol of separation.

Finally, a lump of inner dirt
gushes out and peace enters in.

First appeared in The Literary Hatchet.