Blue Milk
Milk arrives at dawn, swelling breasts that cradle a newborn life— the world is founded again. Yet circling vultures of noon, hawk-eyed and hungry, gaze at innocence unguarded, their famine mirrored in lust. In the soil of our thoughts milk flows only after the fiercest consummation, the summit of union. Falcons vanish in flight, owls cry in midnight silence, and Lucifer himself bends low to witness— is this child encircled by God’s soft hand, or abandoned to the ash-pit of a ruthless society? Tenderly, in false caress, a hand weighs the breast, so much milk—white wings! Yet children born of this pain inherit both sweetness and torment, each sip a chalice of truth spilled against lies. Lucifer hunts such squandered innocence, fears rise: can the infant’s mouth upon the breast redeem justice, outwit the cunning of corruption? Where innocence fails, civilization sickens— a hidden Vibhishan waits, treachery crouched in shadow. And yet, like a bud b...