Dumped in a pool of muddy clay,
For whole of the night and a day.
A frail old woman passing by,
Heard the voice of my infant cry;
She trotted towards the muddy puddle,
Startled – seeing a baby girl wobble.
The passion of mother’s love,
Rekindled in her tender trove.
Hastily she looked here and there,
And then in the puddle – she lovingly stare.
She stretched her arms, she picked me up,
With jittery feelings of being caught up.
She kissed me, she hugged me, and she caressed.
Wrapped me tight, close to her chest.
She brought me to a shack, where she lived,
She was measly poor, it was lucid.
She laid me on her rickety bed,
Cleaned my bod and baby head.
Poured some milk in her china bowl,
Quenched the thirst of my hungry soul.
She patted me to sleep – as I gently snore,
There came someone knocking at the door.
Old lady was scared, too stunned to react,
Reached for the door; peeped through a crack.
The tension in her mind came to an end,
She was relieved to see her senile husband.
She held the shrivelled hand of her mate,
Made him see their ‘gift of fate’.
Old man was worried, questioned his spouse,
“Who is this baby in our crumbling house?”
“She’s a little girl as you see,
Dumped by her begetter, picked by me.”
“We’ll bring her up as our own girl,
Keep her safe as a beautiful pearl.”