The midwives of the spirit say they can hear a heart throb
The experts of course disagree -
The urine test they ordered tested negative confirming their palpitation results
Our fundal height is at an all-time low
Our breasts bear no tale-tell tints upon their tits
Yet in their finger upon our navel
The midwives of the spirit say they can hear a fetal throb
God, the things that are done in Your name
I mean, the things that are undone behind the flimsy facade of Your name
If our own eyes have not seen
the things they here disclaim on an oath
We would have been believing we dreamt it all
Indeed even now,
Under the heat of their quizzical glare
The benign indulgence of their smiles
We are not sure
NO! We are sure
They say we've gone all out of our minds
But if madness nurtures such lucidity,
God make us mad
Make us even more mad!
For in the navel of the soul
We too have felt at times
The throb of a heart straining
A spirit refusing to be drowned
in its own waters before birth
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