The Womb – Poems on Mother , Father , Children , Parenthood – Volume 2 by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

51. CAN NEVER EVER FORGET 

I might perhaps forget even the most sensuously untamed feel of raindrops; if they don’t cascade from fathomless sky; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most mellifluously mystical voice of the nightingale; if she doesn’t diffuse sound from her throat; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most fantastically unbridled royalty of the lion; if he doesn’t uninhibitedly growl in the jungles; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most Omnipotently brilliant light of the Sun; if it doesn’t blaze from behind the ominously treacherous clouds; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most poignantly coalescing frostiness of the

wave; if it doesn’t kiss the pristinely blissful shores; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most triumphantly unfettered redolence of the rose; if it doesn’t profoundly blossom from the infinitesimally ethereal bud; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget  even the most altruistically philanthropic of humanity; if it doesn’t embrace the innermost dormitories of my soul; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most indomitably undaunted victory; if it

doesn’t unfurl infront of the whites of my impeccable eyes; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most perpetually emollient paradise; if it

doesn’t engulf a diminutive speck of the planet; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most salubriously robust fruit; if it doesn’t perpetuate into the ghastily emaciated walls of my stomach, for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most resplendently jubilant of star; if it doesn’t celestially twinkle in the aristocratically crystal blue carpet of sky; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most unassailably unparalleled voice of truth; if it doesn’t transcend the mortuaries of sacrilegiously threadbare lies; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most effulgently mitigating of sensuousness; if it doesn’t enshroud every conceivable pore of my drearily lambasted skin; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most quintessentially burgeoning waterfalls;

if they don’t cascade down the handsome mountains; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most victoriously unfettered destiny lines;

if they don’t inhabit the lap of my dreadfully diminishing palms; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most brilliantly unadulterated winds of honesty; if they don’t wholesomely massacre every trifle of parasitically rancid corruption;

for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most Omnisciently life-yielding breaths; if they don’t miraculously rejuvenate fresh life into my haplessly amorphous veins; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most Immortally uniting of heartbeats; if they don’t eviscerate me from the coffins of salaciously pulverizing betrayal; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most fabulously scintillating of diamonds; if they don’t glitter into charismatically impregnable glory; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most pricelessly unconquerable anecdotes of innocence; if they don’t unflinchingly tower above the cold-bloodedly rampaging devil; for far too long,

I might perhaps forget even the most saliently symbiotic rudiments of existence; if they don’t fearlessly tower above deliriously decrepit depression; for far too long,

But I can never ever forget your Omnipresently Godly womb O! Mother for an

infinite more lives of mine; can never ever disown its undefeated compassion for an infinite more deaths even after the chapter of my survival had veritably ended; even after I had renounced every speck of my physical form and died