//Crawl//
I always crawl towards love
as a child
with a travelogue from womb
where I felt
the hand of my mother
searching my movement.
I felt it there
probably
the elements and factors
that wrinkle love
that made me cling
to women, later
breasted to them
to womb what a woman is
Like mother
Like daughter.
They never taught me
when I lisp it,
growl it or moan it
or when they made the lamb silenced,
nor never I knew when
they made me run for them
or strolled out
to tranquilize an image.
Who knows where you end
and where I begin!
But the story continues
further
towards and unending end
where I always crawl
crawl
for my journey that sounded love
through out
to clusters of love
where a child cling for love
where a man cling for love
where an old man like cart
dragged and drags
for his last gasp
for his love.
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