Where Do Dead Babies Go?

In a bright green garden full of flowers and a tree,
Is where today my son runs free.
He laughs and plays and chatters with all the others,
Who, like him, were never meant to be,
They swing on swings and eat orange oranges,
And are blithely ignorant of all revenges.
At times I wonder whether he remembers me,
Gently stirring in my womb before,
And I wonder if it hurt him as much as it hurt me,
Or did it hurt him even more?
No, he must never know, and he must never miss,
A mother’s touch, her smile, her kiss.
I know he is happy wherever he is,
Though he couldn’t be mine, and I couldn’t be his.
For each night in my dream he comes and smiles,
And reminds me I have to go on for many more miles.
For then I feel helpless, as helpless as one can be,
Chained to my sorrows, though I never wanted to be free,
For one day I may hold his sister or brother,
But he can never ever have another mother.
One day I shall show your little sister,
All the things I was waiting to show you,
Teach her the songs you were going to sing
Call her name and think of yours that only you and I know.

6 thoughts on “Where Do Dead Babies Go?

    1. Thanks a lot. 🙂 It took me some time to come up with this, and I am glad you liked it, though the only problem is that it’s the first time I wrote in a feministic voice; I am not usually used to it. 🙂 But overall, I suppose this debut in feminism is a good start. And btw, when are you posting next? I am longing to read from you. Come back soon, two more are ready, will be posting them soon. 🙂


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