Rootage

One day, I was born.

Amidst blood and masks, and breaths,

mine initiated, after the pat.

She took me, he took me,

and chewed on my sweetness.

Cotton embraced me, from below, left and right,

for the faces were left for above.

In the white hung, a clap may be,

beside was a flower may be,

there were some sweets may be,

there were giggles and laughs, for sure.

Sometimes later, he was born,

amidst the blood and masks, and breaths too,

the pat came, but not the breaths later,

he hung in air, for too long.

No clap, for sure.

No flower, for sure.

No sweets, for sure.

But he was my brother, or may be!