Genetic Dilution

No.
Genetic drift not possible,
My son will never born,
He is dead before conceived.

What an illusion I'd witness in the dream
All the wisdom accumulated in years
Vanished into air in seconds.
I'm ineligible to procreate
God has rated me second class human.

I could hear the cry of my son
But who will give flesh and bones
To the wondering soul?
I'm made aware not to pollute the world further,
My ideas succumbed to the theory of purity,
Probably the world is true
I can't conceive pure-caste infant.

O' my son's soul
Your father, a pronounced ineligible
To give you shape in flesh and bone.
Don't wonder, don't wait further
Look for some one else
Who has the right to give you breath.


* * *

Oskar, The Poet

Each time a dream shatter

Life mock at the poet's existence.
Days, nights, months and years --
Counting never ceased
Like the flow of perennial tears.

Oskar didn't wished to be a poet
He never ever desired to be in print
No prize he aspired to win
No honour he deserved to get
Yet for him hope lies nowhere
Other than his unfinished poems.

He knows at some point of life
Journey wouldn't be infinite long,
But nothing would change for the poet then,
For him life and death both
Forms one side of an old Chinese coin.
All these because
The poet resides within his soul
And the soul has learned to breathe
Among his decomposed poems.

* * *