my mind always told me that 'Miracle' is something we could never define. It starts at the horizon, where the wheel of imagination stops and the senses rule the hazy liquid images, making us helpless everytime we try to define it.
Being born is such a miracle!, fusion of two cells to create a new cell is indeed miracle in the eyes of a commoner. They say it was the time when they were harvesting maize, the sun was good and the breeze was floating. There were rainbow bridges built in the sky and the birds were singing on top of their rather shallow voice.
Against the harmony of such delight, there existed a 16 by 10 room where a miracle would take place soon. Dark and deserted, the sound of uneasiness shook the pillars of this little boy's heart. As the scream echoed around the deserted room, in totally confused state the boy would reach out to the long sword, burn some incense stick and perform the reckoning diety puja he saw his grandfather do for sick. He would lift his head which is now totally covered by his eyes that told a sad story of being helpless. Occasionally during the labour, he would let go a hollow cry," mom! Are you ok!". And then the miracle happens !, first the head and then the pegged body atlast lay down beside, some few helping audience crowd up, the news spread like a crazy fire.
Being born is miracle! , harsh world exposed to the tender bones who until then knew only the comforts of the forgotten womb.