How I came to live here

When everything was going the Borges way and my head seemed a vast egg full of astral matter that could spill anytime like yellow yolk, a little recall of the details relating to my own coming into this earth is in order:

Electricity struck a mother’s middle finger
Causing  radically twisted views about life.

The electric wires came from  father’s love
Who embraced them to get the wind going,

For a baby- son perspiring in summer heat.
Baby might have cried viable disapproval.

It was unclear if it was okay to deprive son
Of  a father’s love, by embracing live wires.

It  was wrong choice, a crazy quirk of fate,
A poetic justice, before a future unfolded,

A finger-pointing by its fate at a life-script
Ere a prologue is writ, an epilogue began.


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