Being Born

I have been here too long, a coiling tube twisting from my bulging belly, caressing my toes and chest as my heartbeats echo outside the chamber of my reprieve.

I awake in a shimmering black river, with crimson streaks exposing smoky tails every intermittent now and pulling towards a tunnel draining me from my sleep.

I am about to be born, while a thousand years have passed with my pulses in this reverie, walls of living clay my closet, a spherical room for a dance on a wet stage.

I am eager to dance with all winds of time, a crying dance from drawing breath and those pangs of a slap to my being.

Sounds of a strange proximity are tickling my cloak of flesh, but all is felt within by one who is without.

The stench of a myriad colors and voices, bruising beams of slow light swelling my eyes; I am everywhere here where the air speaks in tongues of leaves.

I am seen by singing eyes, probing fingers sending shocks of initial records through my skin.

I am one they announce, and this dream becomes the oldest I was yet to know.

A timid curiosity grows in my hollow head, about things misty and phosphorescent, about the melody hummed by a breast resting my face and the calm drops flowing sweetly in me.

Mouth like a well of love, kisses sipping from me all fright; a nurture I feel glowing from a large face staring blankly at my bewilderment.

I am among others who see themselves in my image, a mirror of their past glistening with futures unbeknown or those I have forgotten.

I am a seed of two warm souls that soiled one another, alchemy of birth’s mystery told through lisps and hallowed hymns.

Stars wait on this moonless evening, and time listens from among broody clouds against an unfazed sky.

Mother whispers one secret name and chilling thunderbolts start a fever in my bones.

Fading into me are her well kept thoughts and bones, tales of her life trimmed into a bouquet wilting with age.

Her first I am to be, eternal and crimson, her second blood spilling in sacrifices and honor of brown birth unstolen.

With swollen eyes that see beyond veils of hearts, I know love; warmly like a pulse tickling my spine and jolting limbs to a dance.

Cradled in mystery I glisten, a throbbing well forged on my skull and sleep remembering sacred and unforgotten futures probing towards heaven.

When father finally lays eyes upon my dreamy face, he outgrows a death of his youth with life breathing calmly and fragile in his arms.

A jewel becomes of my yawn and clutched fists, my paths written for my eyes only.

These hours ring to my rhythm, echoing even tonight years after being born, like a prophesy of that which was and yet to be emerging as one.