Having XX wasn’t my fault,
But they blamed me and mom a lot.
My own tried to get rid of me,
I wondered why couldn’t they let me be.
They buried me though, I was breathing,
The anger in them was seething.
Lest they knew that I was a seed,
That would over time lead.
I was dug out soon,
By a saviour who came like a boon.
Getting a new leash of life,
I grew, with education as my knife.
I went back to my birthplace,
Saw them face to face.
They wondered how I knew them all,
Till I narrated my story which they did recall.
Surprised they were on how I survived,
Recouped and revived.
They failed to realize I was a seed, that would bloom,
Amidst the darkness that did loom.
Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash