a poem by Abraham Oommen

To celebrate the day of birth is a passion
To commemorate it, is a festival
Both are allergic to the thoughtful
For birth is a mistake for many
It’s the most unwanted for the unborn
The unwelcoming, the least option
No warmth in that transition from
Heavenly bliss to the worldly thorns
At once sacrifice the life so far elite!
And embrace birth that portends grief?
Each birthday reminiscences brings
With it the pang of advancing age
May be, we can long to be an infant
Clad in heavenly bliss, amidst earthly gifts
But the venomous world with evil crafts
Set upon at an early chance to sting and
Thus set you in the file of Satan’s cavalry