Murmur 4 (Genetics)

(For my Cytogeneticist friends, and for everybody who can love beyond obstacles) 

 

 

It’s always there,

Just below the surface

Of every conversation we have.

 

Whose fault is it?

Why do we keep losing

The child we so desire?

 

So as we wait,

Holding hands and praying,

In the pathology collection centre –

 

We are connected,

By this murmur –

This constant worry.

 

Will it be my fault?

What if it’s not my fault? –

Will it make a difference?

 

Will you still love me?

Will I still love you?

Is it worth continuing?

 

So as these thoughts

Murmur between us,

As if connected by more than just our hands –

 

We gently squeeze

And murmur,

‘I love you’.

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Musings (construction, reconstruction and perception)

Does the sun rise for me,

Or am I rushing to greet it?

Does the moon forget to touch me

As she slips below the horizon,

Or have I simply failed to watch anymore?

Does a friend slight me,

Or do I fail to understand his pain?

Does a relationship turn sour,

Or was there nothing there to begin with?

Does the old soldier sip quietly on a rum

Because he needs the drink,

Or does he salute dead mates?

Is life a construction site,

or a constant reconstruction site?

.

.

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I’m not sure…