When minds mate,
A child is born.
But when minds separate,
The child dies not.
The child remains a child,
Only wanting to be heard,
kept and loved by its parents.
The parents never know
its conception, its birth,
its existence.
When from behind a curtain,
he screams “Find me Father”,
All his Papa sees is the space.
When he pulls her saree,
crying “Carry me mother”,
All his Mama sees is the wind.
He never grows, never dies.
Pradeep Dhavakumar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-orphan-6/
