The Magnificent Story of Our Births

I’m going to tell you a story
about the day you were born

It was a Monday or a Tuesday
or perhaps another day of the week

It was some time after dusk or maybe
the sun had risen in the sky

Day or night — it did not matter,

Because

There was a struggle, a whirlwind
of commotion and a ton of stress

You were in a place of darkness,
a warm chamber of ambience

There was a light at the end
of a tunnel, you moved toward it

A blinding glow that consumed
the vision you were yet to know

You heard the voice of a woman, maybe
your mother, or a midwife, or nurse

It could have been the doctor’s
muffled sounds that you heard first

You gasped and wailed at
the abrupt onslaught of a new day

You kicked and flailed your
tiny arms and little legs about

Grasping and struggling to hold
onto anything, a warm limb

It was not until you met
your mother skin to skin

It’s where you finally found
a comforting and loving touch

A soothing hand and a kiss —
a peck — on your head

This is the story of humanity
and our daily struggles

Let us be grateful for all
the mothers who gave us birth

And all the mothers who will
give birth to the future

Our generations yet to come.

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