Where do you come from?

 

“Where do you come from?”,
I’m often asked. That is my task.
Perhaps we’re dust from the stars.
Ask the birds ’n’ bees or Tom.
The question is “How long?”
“Don’t you know the facts of life?
I emerged from the womb,
mother of humanity, a dice
ejected from the groom,
apparently, a bedroom, in tune.
Uprooted from a deeper din
(there is no such thing as sin)
according to Charles Darwin:
black, white, yellow or brown,
scientist, criminal, artist or clown.
In embryo there is a trace,
black & blue below the waist.
We are in a mad, rat race,
struggling to the tip at the top
or falling flat in a big belly flop. 
“I’m next door, down the street,
out of town & indiscreet.
Fight, write, don a crown or sleep 
in this giant whole Gaia keeps.
None know the secret Gaia keeps.”