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 breaking free,
a new life seeks its milk,
its first river of hope.
 
Where there is nectar,
the poison waits—
who placed venom
at the breast of love?
Lucifer’s greedy gaze burns,
the newborn trembles:
for every nectar drop,
a drop of gall,
after the long anguish of birth.
 
Fields are choked in alkali,
the green suffocates in industry’s dust,
grains carry the salt of betrayal,
and even the mother’s milk
is tainted by profit’s venom,
market’s counterfeit.
 
This heavy breast,
this ache of milk—
placed at the mouth of tomorrow’s child.
Lucifer crouches in ambush,
yet we dream of Shiva’s blue throat,
swallowing poison
to cleanse the stream of life.
 
And so a nation waits,
burdened by a sacred weight—
a vow unbroken,
a breast of truth,
a flood of blue milk.