Rebirth
A poem on the birth of a human baby.
I want to become a fetus again,
Gestating in utero,
With alert senses,
And memories eidetic.
I want to have consciousness
In my mother’s womb.
I want to see and feel
Inside the pit of life.
And go through the
Transformative process
Of crossing the Rubicon
Between existence and redundancy.
I want to breathe in and taste
The amniotic fluid —
The elixir, the ever-green liquid.
And feel the umbilical cord
Supplying me with
Life and feelings,
And whisking away
My waste and remorse.
I want to reorient myself lento,
Head down, facing the ground,
As if in a praying attitude,
Chin tucked to chest like a good boy
And ready to engage
With all-purpose and intent:
Slowly presenting myself
In the cephalic position.
Then, I will embark on the greatest
Adventure of my life,
The most thrilling journey,
The harshest climb-down
Like the descent from heaven
Of our Quranic Archparents,
In search of the Seerat al-mustaqim
(The path of least resistance),
Through the dilated cervix.
But who will show me the way,
And teach me the cadence of
The cardinal dance?
I know not any gods or prophets or scriptures,
Nor any charlatans or hacks or witches.
Who will rescue me
From this predicament?
— “It’s all our will,
And the organic mechanics of the body,
And the design by periodic interactions
Of the matters supreme as
Canonized in Mendeleev’s infallible bible
Of the prime elements.”
I shall be travelling through the
Earthing canal and experience
My skull flexing and moving
And pushing through
The pelvic bones,
Out the purulent vulva’s
Opening to the treacherous world.
Ah, all the glory and hazards
That comes with the occiput anterior!
I shall, at last, savour
The toxic air of late capitalism.
For the first time, I shall cry,
And percept the solar radiation.
For, we are what we seek.
Halifax, 13.07.21






