It is conceived
It grows in you
It is craved by many
Sometimes you know not
when you conceive it
Sometimes you dread its presence
Yet you cannot conceal the bulge
Sometimes you want the world
to know what is inside you
Sometimes you are too confused
Sometimes you wonder
how it will look like when it comes out
Sometimes you want it terminated
Sometimes you are anxious to have it
Sometimes the onlookers embarrass you
If you force it out
It is an abortion
If you induce it
It will be a pre-mature birth
If you leave it there for too long
It will be a still- born
If you get too excited
You will suffer a miscarriage
When you display signs
of an expectant mother
You are branded an introvert,
eccentric, weird, name it
Yet, at delivery time
It is only you to experience
the agony of labour pains
Quite alien to anyone
Who has never given birth before
But when it finally comes out |
It becomes everyone's business
Some will congratulate you
Others will condemn you
Some will praise it
Others will pour scorn on it
Some will cherish it
Others will chastise it
Some will love it
Others will loathe it
Some will wish to display it
Others will wish to dispose of it
Some will host it
Others will hate it
Some will touch it
Others will tear it
Some will value it
Others will vandalize it
Some will crave it
Others will criticize it
Some will notice it
Others will ignore it
Some will discuss it
Others will discard it
Some will adore it
Others will abhor it
Some will use it
Others will abuse it
Some will aver it
Others will avoid it
But, everyone will have something
to feel and or say about it
Just as they do with newly-born ones
Oh, how a work of art is just like a baby |
