On Killing Before Birth

My winged inner-self
Took me to the world astral
Along with all senses alive,
The world where fates are ordained,
Where records are maintained.
I rested in front of two mansions
Whose main doors were conjoined,
One left the other right,
And the inner parts were dark.
The men and women,
One by one,
And turn by turn,
Leapt out like birds,
As they hop out of the nest,
Early in the morn.
I beheld a long queue of the kids,
Extended beyond the sight,
Aging less than the years ten,
All sweating, perspiring
In radiance of the Sun of that world,
Dismayed and dejected,
Nearby stood in the row a child,
Resembling face and features
One of my sons.
Then I was disclosed a mystery
“The are the souls of kids
Whom parents have killed
Before their birth
They lined up themselves for their turn:
The turn that will never turn again.”

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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