I've just arrived,
You say I'm a baby,
But, for now I know nothing,
So I'll just say, "Maybe..."
You want to fill me,
To define my experience,
I want growth and fulfilment,
To do and to be.
What do I remember -
Pale faecal reflections,
Bits of past memory,
Your sterilised descriptions?
I'm learning and growing,
Your thoughts an invasion.
You're tempted to censor, but, please,
Leave sensation and sense to me.
So, what can I know:-
Just what you tell me?
You filter out my memories,
Before they're fixed within me,
Your systems controlling,
No dialogue with me,
You want me to roll over and smile,
Your order defining existence.
How can I judge?
I'll cry or be happy,
But I'll absorb everything,
I'm a terry towelling nappy,
Full of rash promises,
I'll laugh or be crabby,
Get retentive and manured,
By your fertile, super egos.
Maybe I am a baby,
If so, when'll I be made free?
When'll I become,
What I know as the real me?
When'll what I see,
Become what I want to see?
When'll I build blocks,
For my future recollection?
To my critics all and sundry,
I say, "Give me liberty,
Or return me to the womb,
It gives warmth and tranquillity,
Freedom from complaints,
My mum's tum'll look after me.
Once more I'll become a blank slate,
Innocent till proved guilty... again!"
© Stefan Lewis-Fish
(11th Sept 1999)
