Bull’s Eye Pregnant

Pregnancy

Have you seen how eggs
Are arranged in a fridge?

It’s always in two lines when the one closest
Is sucked in by your fimbriae like fingers
And dropped on the frying pan.

And as the egg breaks
You see the white spreading
Like an amniotic ocean
And the golden yolk,
Afloat on top like a moon island
Squirming of life.

Mouse

Mouse

You’re inside a box
And you’re thinking outside.
And still you can’t figure out
How the house mouse crept through
An opening, right into the kitchen
And on to the container holding
A few kilo grams of rice.

And you wonder, how can solid walls
And sturdy doors be outwitted by a rodent.
And you look through the ceiling
Where a wire pierces, or the washing machine
From where a canal goes out, you search
The pantry for a sign of mouse droppings
Or coir for nesting, and still you find nothing.

And as you ponder, an epiphany strikes
I’m not that smart nor am I practical enough to be a
Mouse detective. The PhD that holds me on a pedestal
Could have easily been on mouse models, still
I’m perplexed at how a house mouse
Can outfox the fortress that is our kitchen.

And finally after laying the traps
A few times, you catch Mr Mousey
And your wife happens to fall in love with it.
The big ears and the whiskers, almost kissable she says.
And we take it to a deserted jungle
To let it lose and you come home
To an empty house.

All of a sudden the kitchen is empty
No sound, no master or contingency plan
No long conversations in bed on how
To outmaneuver the house mouse
We seem to be stuck in a rut.

Its amazing how much a mouse
Takes over your life. Now the silence
Wraps us, roof seems to sink, walls appear to shrink
As claustrophobia takes us hostage
How beautiful was three!

All of a sudden we are tearing our clothes
Off, in a hysterical hurry to make love.
It’s that time of the month to greet
Humpty Dumpty falling from the ovaries.
We are stricken with baby fever.

And two weeks after, we see two pink lines
On a peed strip. We are overjoyed at annunciation.
And we tell our circle of family and friends
With a twinkle and a grin.

“It took a mouse to get her pregnant”

Love and Pregnancy

Preggy

Everyone one of my friends has kids.
Some 2 and others 3.
Its almost always more than 1.
Like everyone wants
A company or crowd
But never a monocyclist
Or a string quartet.

And my wife and I, we plan
To bring one rug rat to the world.
Who will run circles around us,
And make our blue veins,
Surface like gorgonzola cheese,
And still give us 4 hours of uninterrupted
Sleep each night. And we will paint
Blue when the doctor looks at
An ultrasound and tells you
It’s a boy. My father will be happy
The Gunawardana name will gallop
On for one more generation.

And still we fear the one.
Would we over pamper him and make
Him into a selfish thorn or worse
A clown and crowd puller.
Perhaps he will be a bubble boy
Taking, like his father, 37 years to kiss a woman
Or maybe by the time he is 18
He would know the underside
Of a sanitary pad better than
The old man knows.

And life is about that challenge
When we know when to give in
And when to say no, when to spur him on
When to let him make his own decisions.
He will perhaps become a doctor
Who will spend his time ferrying babies out
Or perhaps he will become a playboy
Giving ammunition to the apple
That can fall far from the tree, or maybe
He will be as gay as a Mars bar
I mean, aren’t men from Mars?

And we will look at the wonderful
And not so wonderful things he would do.
Like climb Machu Pichu, impregnate his girlfriend,
Walk from tip to toe of Sri Lanka for charity
Or get a drunk-driving ticket. We will still
Love him, like when we did that day
When he climbed out of his little hiding spot
And made us the happiest parents on earth.

And love can only be colorblind, when
We will talk about the birds and the bees
And that sometimes, Adam is with Steve
And not Eve and that the greatest mysteries in life
Are only self-determined and sovereign.
Like why we live, laugh, love and finally surrender.
And there are no clear answers
To most questions in life

And looking at my wife bloated
Like an elephant in a circus, I can only feel
The love I have for her, when Elephantine
Would be an understatement.
And have you seen a child show with his arms
How much he loves mummy and daddy
And still we adults can never draw the magnitude
Or the shape of love. Perhaps it is as big as Jupiter.
Perhaps it is as perfect as the full moon.
Perhaps it is shaped like a mango
Perhaps we will never know.

Love can do no more
Than love beyond condition
And that needs no measurement or formula
It is the unenviable keystone
Between two beings. Love is just
That thing you do to transcend existence
When she holds you like a crab’s claw
A place you can never cede or lose
Holier than a pilgrim’s lair
The perfect anarchy of the storm
In your flesh, that summons you to the eye.
To look through and be capsized
To the secluded bliss
Of one Eden.

Marine Theology

Annunciation

They say marine creatures, like mollusks
Write their own scripts with ink, venom and milk.

Biological concoctions of peptides and indigo dyes.
And here life is all about the beautiful prey and her capture.

And we humans call the prey, a mystical gender,
A euphemism, “woman”, radiant and strongly nuclear

We make another euphemism “love” on tender surfaces.
Seeping heart-fluids through a funneling harpoon

A woman can be a tunicate on a rock, flowing and ebbing,
Her body beautifully sessile; the siphon, a little opening,

Taking the feed in. Love was spooned like an ounce of sugar
To a little shrine. The offering of a holy pilgrim.

Like an anchor melting inside of her, cast iron
Oozing out milky nickel, pristine and full of life

Love was an adoration to what was shrouded by a loin cloth.
Milking a little life was the almighty truth.

And now they will wait, for annunciation.

Man’s Redemption

Syrian Woman

Man is slandered and persecuted by rumor
As the hunter and the sex-god
The boner that defines his gender.

And he is only, a spoon with sugar
Extending to a hidden mouth with drool
Hoping that it is not just indulgence,
A sugar rush, he gives.

He too sees a bald moon in her eyes,
– The sweetest moon he can hold in his bare hands –
As he is feeding her with sugar

Unassailably beautiful, like a baby’s head.