Baby memories

(Remembering my daughter as a newborn lying next to me)

I woke up gasping

In the dead of the night

What was this steely grip

Around my neck

This leaden weight on my stomach

That awoke me from deep slumber?

I groped in the dark

And the steel turned to rose

Smooth as satin, soft as silk

It was my daughter’s baby arm

And the lead on my stomach

Her leg curled around me.

Her breath sweet tickled my chin.

The fresh smell of her skin

Pervaded my senses

Tender as baby cucumber

I smiled to myself

As I looked at her tranquil face

Innocent, serene, secure

I felt my heart swell with love

For this warm being that loved me,

Wanted me, and demanded

My attention even in sleep. 

Seeing Death

(grandfather just minutes before his death)

What was he seeing? The old man in the hospital.

The look of dumb agony, the appeal for relief, of helpless love, eyes fixed on me.

Why did they move away? What drew their gaze?

They look to my right, they look to my left,

They look behind me.

I turn behind: no one there.

No one to my right

No one to my left.

Yet he seems to see something.

Why did his eyebrows lift?

Why did his lips part?

I am frightened.

I press his old, gnarled hand.
He looks back at me.

His look relaxes, the eyebrows untangle.

I am relieved.

There again, he looks away from me

Looks to my right

Looks to my left

To my right, to my left

My right, my left

Right, left

Right, left.

Then above my head, and all over the room.

The eyes move dizzy-paced.

Fixes on the door, then the window

Perturbed, amazed,

Terrified, maybe horrified?

Then back to my face.

Puzzled, worried

Does he see me?

Does he know me?

No more.

What does he see?

Why are his lips sealed?

So near a secret, yet so far. 

All are equal

‘We are all equal,’ the wise ones said.

‘How true! How true!’ the rest nodded their head.

‘All of us, each one,’  the wise ones said. ‘All are equal.’

‘Except, of course, the old people: they are old and weak!’

The rest nodded, too sad to speak.

‘And except, of course, the children: they are young and ignorant.’

The rest bent their heads in silent assent.

‘And of course except the women – they are women after all!’

To disagree with that, no one had the gall.

‘Except of course the poor – uncouth as they are!’

The rest snorted and rolled their eyes at the stars.

‘And except the OTHERS – how can they be equal to US?

‘How true, how true!” cried the rest. “Why the fuss?”

‘But, like we said, all of us are equal. All of us!’ the wise men said.
‘How true! How true!’ the rest nodded their head.

Why Why Why

“Why don’t we go to the park, father,”

Asked the little boy, slipping his little palm into his father’s,

“Like we used to every day

Till a month back?”

“Why don’t we walk around the park, father,”

He asked, tugging his father towards the gate,

“Like we used to every day

Till a month back?”

“Why is it not safe anymore, father”

He asked, gripping his father’s hand tightly,

“But it used to be

Till a month back?”

“Why is the park so bare, father,”

He asked, looking all around, puzzled,

“It was never so

Till a month back?”

“Why are the benches vacant, father,

Where are the grandpas and grandmas?

Why are the swings and see-saws still?

Where are the little children?

Why are the trees so silent, father

Where are the birds?

Why is the ground so bare, father

Where did the grass go?”

“And what is this small patch, father,

It was not there before

This red-brown earth all cracked and bare

What is this pit in the park, father?

It was not there

Till a month back?”

“But why did people die here father

Who dropped the bomb?

And whose blood is this, father,

That of the killer or the killed?

If all blood is the same, father,

Then what did they fight over?

And why is the park bare

And the grass red?”

GUEST POST FROM TARA SUDHAKAR

I am in the mood for a guest post today! Introducing the new poet on the block - my daughter, Tara, who wrote this lovely poem three years back. I discovered it in my system only a month back and was amazed at the expression. Must have read it a hundred times since then! 

ODE TO THE SOUL

Drown in the river,

Oh soul of mine

Quench your thirst.

Be thou but a small

Harmless self that

Touches the heart of one

That is rendered homeless.

Be thou a leaf

That dances to the tunes

Of Mother nature

Whose cradle is

As much yours as another’s.

Be thou, silk worm

Whose selfless sacrifice

Yields clothing for heartless people

Who don’t understand life’s worth!!

Be thou a river

That flows through ages

Forever, endlessly

Carrying with you

The freshness and calmness

The very essence of life.

Be thou a ray of light

Whose beam lights up

One’s heart which

Had once lost the life and zest.

Be thou the trees

Whose shade revive

The life of many

Sweet, sweet little birdie.

Be thou a wall

Whose power one cannot penetrate

When cruel yet pleasing thoughts

Enter one’s mind.

Be thou the pen

Which writes down

What I say.

Be thou , the home of people

Be thou, the home of hearts.

 BY      

                                                                                      

TARA SUDHAKAR                                                                                                              

(16 YRS)

Sty in my eye

Oh,ho,ho
Got a sty in my eye
What gave me
The sty in my eye?
Why o why
The sty in my eye?
In pain I cry
There’s a sty in my eye!
O my, my
What a big, round sty!
I know I’ll die
Of the sty in my eye.

Who am I? What’s my name?

Can’t remember! What a shame!

An ID here, a password there

PINs and passwords everywhere

Bank accounts and licence numbers,

Registration and PAN numbers,

An ID tag, a credit card,

My identity’s torn apart

Am I a person, or even a name

Or just some numbers: what’s the game?