It

It’s my week three, the beginning of me

A peck of flesh, you called a delicate darling

You are waiting for me, with love and glee

Can’t wait to come out, breathing and crying

I wait for your hug, care and warmth

How I yearn for the cradle of your arms

It’s my week five; can you hear my heart beat?

I can sense you are happy, seeing me on the screen

I wait patiently inside growing my feet

Can’t wait to crawl out, fulfill my plans umpteen

I plan to grow big, hold your hand when you are old

I plan to take care of you; have a heart of gold

It’s my week seven; am half an inch tall

I am starting to grow ears, I can hear you speak

You argue on a name, discuss what to call

I hear all kinds of them, Indian and Greek

Oh dear mom, I don’t care what you name me

Shower your love and I will respond to whatever you call me

It’s my week eleven, I am ten grams heavy

Am I difficult to carry, I am so sorry

I now have a spine too, strong and sturdy

I will carry you when you are old, don’t you worry

You saw me on the screen again; I cannot fathom your feelings

Are you sad or angry? Why do I feel fear engulfing?

I hear you say “I don’t want it”

Mom, I am not ‘it’, aren’t I your little Darling?

You break my heart, pain do you call it?

You have set a date, Mom, Can’t you hear my wailing?

I promise you, I will be good, will never be a menace

Just let me be born, I will perform whatever the penance

Please help me mom, my world is spinning

Stop them Dad, don’t you hear me cry?

Please don’t punish me, this is not my doing

Shouldn’t one be born before starting to die?

God, there is a mix-up, they cannot be my parents

Send me to a couple who do not have favorites

Please be benevolent, grace them with sense

Never knew, “It’s a girl” is a synonym for death sentence