Memories are serpentine. They cannot be trusted. What
was profoundly sad then can become a tender joy now. More often, sadness
lingers. One of those many images that still linger in my memory from years ago
belongs to Delhi. Some construction work was going on. I was a witness. For
days. The following poem came from what I saw. This poem belongs to those days
when I had some sensibility to write poems. A memory. A grief. And a joy that I
haven’t lost that sensibility altogether though I don’t write poetry anymore.
My
Hunger is Concrete
I’m
just a year and a half old
and
am constructing this huge shopping mall.
Here
I am sitting in the shade of a bush
by
the side of the towering structure
to
which my mother carries the mixture
of
gravel and sand and cement
in
a grating crater on her head.
When
I’m hungry, I wail loud.
That’s
when mother comes
and
makes me stand on a wall,
opens
her blouse,
and
pops a nipple into my mouth,
her
one hand behind my back
and
the other holding the crater.
It’s
my hunger that builds the mall.
PS.
What brings this poem back here is the latest Indispire prompt: Is there an old grief of
yours that has become a tender joy now? #GriefJoy
Poignant and beautifully versed.
ReplyDeleteSoul - stirring.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and introspective piece.
ReplyDelete...working people and their families seem to get short changed in life.
ReplyDeleteHari OM
ReplyDelete...oh, that final line... YAM xx
Heart-touching Poem
ReplyDelete