Mutation

Mutation long poem

In the womb of a test tube
the male conjugates with the female,
to germinate
the genesis of a genus

In a petri dish
under the optics
of a microscope
a genetic engineer
denudes
and rapes
the genus
with a pair of forceps …
mutilates
by
mutation
the very nucleus
of the genus
drafting the prologue
in the propagation
of a new progeny prototype.

Inside the sterile aura
of an incubator
the fabricated zygote
incubates and begins its
prenatal pilgrimage
nurtured with
synthetic potions
delivered through
the pore of a metered pipette.

“Wanted
a healthy virgin womb
on hire.”
screamed the classified
in the local tabloid.

At the culmination
of its biological pilgrimage
the genetic engineer
implants
the almost invisible
speck of an impinged
entity
into the surrogate’s
virgin uterus

the aftermath
of a test tube experiment
anchors itself
in the dark,
cold ambience
of an apathetic
rented receptacle.

Tethered
by the umbilical cord,
the confused,
puzzled
tenant
inside the hired chamber
seeks an identity…

Knocking on the walls
of the proxy uterus
the bewildered foetus
poses a question
“Who is my progenitor?”

The male?
The Female?
The Genetic Engineer?
The virgin Surrogate?

The counterfeit
guardians
respond with
an insensitive,
indifferent
sterile silence!!

Nine protracted
gravid bigamous
months later
the preternatural
progeny slithers
under virgin labor
into the pram
of this universe
with a controversial
name tag
“love child”?
“demon child” ?
“human child”?

Morality screeches
Nature is supreme
degrade it not
in the name of science …
mutilate it not
under the guise of research !!!

A confused
muted progeny
seeks its identity
in a mutating world!!!

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

16 Comments on "Mutation"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Preeti
Member

Aha! Science in a poem! Interesting and nice:)

Geetha Paniker
Member

Intense one …the journey of a test tube baby.

Savi Mani
Member

oh what a wonderful poem on what mankind is doing under the guise of medical science to the future generation………..first the test tube baby and then the surrogate mother…….where we are leading too……mutating our own kind…….why cant we live the birth of a child to its natural form….the way God has meant it to be……yes we had deformed the nature beyond repair and not satisfied by doing that we are deforming the mankind…….i had seen a test tube boy and had wondered does he know that, how he feels to know the true identity of his birth and now a surrogate mother……..the womb for sale indeed….how can the womb of a mother be on sale…….is there no emotional attachment with the one she gave birth…….very recently we have heard of babies born with peculiar genetic disorders……this is the boon of the so called……deformation……….the mutation of our own kind……
wonderful poem dear Viswas Menon…….sorry for the lengthy comment…..but i felt like responding to your thoughts too,…….thanx and regards…..

Savi Mani
Member

sorry for the mistake…..to be read as “why cant we leave the birth of a child”……….

ammu sachariah
Member

fantastic. Noting more to write.

Ramapriya Nr
Member

This poem no doubt high lights the apathy of the child not born in natural way but still when we think of millions of childless couple, the science has given them a boost which they cherish for the rest of their life. The childern are nothing but God and I am sure the child born artificially will not bother in what process he/she was born but sure accept who ever the woman who take care of it as its mother and that is the real beauty of being a child in other words God

Laya Sarath
Member

wow wow wow…the whole process in a poetic way..huh thats incredible talent @vistar sir..kudos..

wpDiscuz

Mutation

Mutation short poem

Like black birds homing in twilight, to the tree my thoughts make a perfect landing. I lift the silence in sleep. A flying snake enters a pink room. A bullet pierces the heart. No acolytes, I will catch myself the