by Thachom Poyil Rajeevan
I am to be born today.
My star turned into a black hole
My tree perished my bird, my animal
All died out.
My king’s name is not Herod
My uncle is not Kamsa*
I am not to be a Jew, or a Communist
I won’t fall in love with the princess
I won’t lay any claim for the kingdom;
I don’t know then
Why all are afraid of my birth
The love you keep for me is being wasted
And that I keep for you now hates me,
My dreams betray me before I dream them
I don’t figure in the register of the living
Nor in the roll of the dead
I’m in exile in a country
Yet to be discovered,
For an offence no one knows.
Like the ones for the dead
Some rituals could be there
For the unborn like me,
* A mythical cruel king who was killed by his nephew, the Lord Krishna, as the uncle’s cruelty exceeded all limits.