Principality, perhaps it is right or wrong
for those that can command justice
from the back of their hand
into their palm.
I know books in the bible
but their verses I can copy
like my handprint, from my parents’
palms can be said to be what I copied
with fate’s writing…
Destiny is right and its change
I called upon my God
that night I woke drenched in sweat
wondering how I got in bed;
this world though it’s a witness
to what I was not, maintained its silence
and I was questioned…
What’s happened has happened
in the hands of time,
what do I tell others;
what has happened is what ought to happen,
And ten months to nine is long
not in control of myself, my stomach
hiding my feet, the little bean to a boy
The happiest moment is when you see
your child for the first time they said,
not many but most said
He’ll become your focus…gloss,
perhaps gloss over what’s happened
My child’s eyes aren’t the colour of mine,
can I still look at him and say
But I want to ask why
his first cry carried an echo mine,
that I’ve been swallowing,
he takes that away from me too.
Isn’t that justice?
I said to him your father is the night
he didn’t run or take what wasn’t his,
he gave me what I didn’t know I needed
even with nightmares and a blurry face;
my child’s eyes are clear
like the moon’s light embracing said night?
So what if our eyes will never meet honestly?
Lying righteously isn’t my stance
and I know my child isn’t wrong;
only destiny is the judge.
Tell me if my happiness isn’t also my sorrow
and I can live harmoniously with both
love and hate, principality…
In the end, who is suffering
I dare not say it’s me.