From Man to Baby

 

It was midnight. He was born at the local hospital.
Tiny squirming thing. Family surrounded to watch the spectacle.
He turned about on a towel, doctor patted on the back;
Eyes moved for a second, and then everything went black-
He recalled a life lived before this one,
A mother’s only son:

He was but an ordinary lad, nothing particularly special about him.
Like every child he desired to quench his smallest whims.
But to his folks he was special of course, a diamond cut to shine;
He was destined to rise above, change history’s design.
Thus he embarked upon a journey when he was five; young,
And the story of his life had thus begun.

Stumbling across a turtle, a magnificent emerald shell;
Enchanted, overpowered by curiosity, he decided to kill.
Though somewhere in his heart he knew, when he admired the prize keenly;
He was shocked he had the power to destroy a life so easily.

At ten, he was stopped by a seething river - a body which only men could cross;
But a boy who looked manly enough could lie: what was going to be his loss?
He took the plunge. As the villagers had warned, he almost drowned;
It took a lie to show the truth could never have been truer around.

Wiser still, as he turned fifteen, his travel led him to a sage
Who boasted of his knowledge, mystic powers; forced him to pay homage.
He did comply, and bowed down to kiss the master’s feet-
Yet, like the sage, he figured he would decide how to be treated.

At twenty-something his heart fluttered at the sight of a beautiful woman;
After letting go of everything, he expressed he wouldn’t choose another one.
Dispose he did – his emerald, his knowledge, his past, to lust-
In his naivety, he gave up on everything that mattered the most.

Alone and staggering at the age of forty, he had to find means to earn.
A woodcutter offered him a hand: he was to build, but to cut, he had to learn.
After toiling for days piling timber logs, the cutter stole the wood and ran away;
Tears streamed down, but he found solace in the fact that they would have to repay one day.

The hands of the clock of age ticked to his late-fifties, he was getting old-
During the years he had scraped through by sale, it was honey he sold.
Standing up for himself after losing all and rebuilding his life-
What was lost could be found again, what was relevant was the strife.

He knew sixty sounded ancient - indeed, he had become senile;
A little reflection: it had been long since he had watched his folks’ smile.
He hobbled homewards, to be greeted by the absence of family;
You never do know when you have to perish, the reality struck badly.

A life lived in the present had been lived in such a way, he felt;
That in the future he wouldn’t look back at his past with regret.
At seventy, with wet eyes, he drew his last breath-
It was time to say hello to death.

More rubs on the back, the baby made a sound;
Wailing violently, it turned itself around.
A joyous exultation ringed him as tears rolled down his flesh-
He let go of his past, and decided to start afresh.

 ~Mustafa