Poetry Reading: BASTARD MINE, by Lakshmi Vinayan Subha

Voice over by Val Cole

Read POEM:

He wasn’t adopted but made,
Not in a womb but psyche.
My son was a misborn,
I never met his father.

I was still married to my past,
Yet I nurtured my son.
Who feeds on my thoughts,
Sparing nothing at all.

While I drained every day.
He bloomed to a manchineel,
He bore the fruits of my toil,
And the apples made me blind.

I sought peace in my past,
That I wished never existed.
I untangled the cobwebs,
To fine, shiny, silk threads.

And I spun new thoughts,
That kept alive my past.
My son fed on the thoughts,
Blinding me day by day.

I was reduced to two eyes,
Bright, that could not see.
The beauty and vibrance,
Just a breath away.

I was reduced to an ego.
To keep my son alive.
I weaved new shiny palls.
At the cost of my idyll,

My son was an evil,
Who killed his mother.
Guilt is my lucky bastard,
Though I never dated Sin.