I had a bun in the oven
From which I suffered the pain
Out of desperation I took a knife
Straight I went to the room of operation
What a nice Anglo-Indian baby I got
The pain and suffering, I all forgot
I wiped the face and cut the cord
Still in it remained lots of errors
Yet with all of its defects and deformities
My mind dazzles and heart pounds
My joy knows no bounds,
I am extremely happy
I feel pride for being a mother of a baby.
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Comments about this poem (Male Mother by Abdul Wahab )
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