I crossed the ovarian bridge of
my mother’s impoverished womb,
seeking asylum from its hostile darkness;
and they received me at the
umbilical border as an infant refugee
just as I had hoped.
They gave me a job and an education;
you’re the Olympian sperm, a book read
and I chuckled, for where does a sperm survive
I wondered ― on the barren earth or
the deepening sea.
Lopsided from a suicide bridge
I peered into the liquid abyss,
the plunge in mid-air my passage
back to my mother’s womb ―
this time not as an Olympian sperm
but a regular one.
Ahsan Yousaf 2019