Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca (Voices Within)

Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca was born in Bombay to Prof. Nissim Ezekiel and Daisy Ezekiel. She attended Queen Mary’s School, St. Xavier’s College, Bombay University and Oxford Brookes University, U.K. She holds Bachelor’s and Masters’ Degrees in English, American Literature and Education. Her career spanned over four decades in Indian colleges, American International Schools and Canada, teaching English, French and Spanish. She’s a published poet, and has her poetry page at https://www.facebook.com/kemendoncapoetry. Kavita also writes short fiction. Her work is strongly influenced by her father’s work. (The late Nissim Ezekiel was an eminent poet, well-known in India and overseas).

Robin on the Fence

He will not go behind his father's saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

Robert Frost ‘Mending Wall’

The low fence between our houses

Has stood for many years

The wear and tear of wood keeps time

And tells of bygone seasons

Protruding nails and striations

Like the rings of a tree

Reveal age,

Previous owners built it

To mark the boundary.

There’s a gap in it now

A wood plank is missing.

Their little dog respects the space

He peers at us but

Will not venture to our side

At least not when we are looking.

I wouldn’t mind a visit

He has the sweetest face.

A rabbit or gopher, perhaps a lost cat

Has wandered in and out between our turfs

Unaware of fences, turfs or unspoken rules of neighbourliness.

I’ve seen the cat once,

The little children might have

Played hide and seek with ours.

They’re all grown up now,

Theirs and ours.

Birds of varying plumage

Have perched on the fence

Glanced quizzically into my kitchen window

Some have snow on their feathers

Harbingers of the changing seasons.

My favorite though, are the robins

And how they puff out their red breasts

I love this one

Because he posed for a photograph

And let me capture the still life

I couldn’t paint.

We would make good neighbors

With or without the fence

We both have flowers and Apple trees

And two children each.

They have a dog, we have cats

The robins, squirrels and lost cats

Walk the fence with full ownership rights

And we exchange barbequed chicken and other grilling

As the aromas waft over, between and under the fence

Frost said that there was ‘something that did not love a wall,’

And we agree about fences,

And there’s no talk of walls.

Some fences may make good neighbors

But some neighbors, like the robins

May straddle the fence

To be photographed,

And should the one missing plank become two

And the gap widens

We may not need to repair the fence.

Perhaps broken fences make better neighbours.

The way I fell in love

I fell in love the way

You fall asleep: slowly,

And then all at once.

[The Fault in Our Stars]

Not me!

I fell in love not slowly.

It was ‘all at once’

Fast, like an express train,

Not stopping at all stations

Not the taxiing plane that lumbers

Taking its time on the runway

But a rocket shooting for the stars

That knots the stomach on its ascent.

When I fell in love

I became a comet, a shooting star

A cheetah, an impala

A wild ocean

Loud, thunderous, relentless,

Free falling and

Not able

To catch myself

The parachute did not open

I stayed in love wrapped tightly.

My usual pace of life is slow

Like the snail

Unhurried and calm

Pulling in the feelers from time to time

To deliberate and take stock

Of the situation.

I was no snail when it came

To falling in love.

I didn’t fall in love slowly

A paradox of my Nature

To understand the irony

You need to really know me.

  

Being human means being Impulsive

Being perfect all the time

Is not part of the human psyche

Though we may try

So I had my moments of quickness

But they were few and far between.

I took the pace of life quite slow

Except for falling in love

India reborn in my Soul

‘Let me find my song where I belong’ (From Poster poems by Nissim Ezekiel)

I have forgotten why I came

My vision blurred by snow and mist

Perhaps.

The journey back home is long

And the time changes there

The body clock needs to work harder

To fight the jet lag

And the lagging spirit.

What country is mine?

The unceasing doubting

Of Mind and heart

Denies the reality of the present

The repetitive refrain poses questions.

I was not running from war or violence

No persecution or famine

Only running from myself

And the endless soul-searching

Common to the human condition

To those who think deeply,

The Quiet here is deafening.

The choice is made now

A sometimes unfathomable choice

The land of my birth

To be grasped in dreams

And Street Food shows

On You Tube.

I have forgotten why I came

Walk the quiet streets, or take

The uncrowded bus or train,

Home is not where I am,

The sound of Quiet is different

Here.

There are no sounds

Of noise here

No people on train tops

Or dangling out of the train

No arguments in the bus line.

Quiet, Quiet

All is Quiet

Someone speak to me please

It’s lonely.

When the sound of soft falling snow

Or the snow plough at night

Ploughs furrows in your brain

And fitful sleep is your potion,

I know I’m not a pin

On the familiar map shape

Even my rotis don’t turn out round

They are shaped like the map of India.

Rain snow and mist

Drop to earth in quiet so low

Make some noise please

Speak to me someone please

It’s lonely here.

I have forgotten

Why I came

Reborn my country

A thousand times

Transported back

In cups of chai

And samosas

In this my adopted home,

No geography can

Erase those smells

That taste, those smells are

India alive

In my soul.

Chai Chai

Garam chai

Drink the liquid noisily

Break the mud pot

Clink Clunk Crack!

Churning yearning

Ceaseless Constant

Perhaps nostalgia

Perhaps not

Dialogue with the mind

To stop

Its answer is a stubborn refusal

Giving a name

To yesterday’s ghost

Calling bluff to the phantom

Of times past

Of sunny- orange skies

And whispering sea breezes

The dilemma deepens

Which country is mine?

Some can love two countries

And some many more

I am the divided mind

A broken clay pot

A Humpty Dumpty

A thousand men

Could not put together

Again.

I have forgotten why I came

Or why there is no turning back.

Make a loud noise

Ring the bus bell loudly

Blow the train whistle

Need the rickshaws and the barking of dogs

It’s so quiet here

And everyone is on their phones.

I’m here to stay

Or so I think

At least I can write my Poetry

It’s quiet here

Perhaps the poetry

Can make the noise

A joyful noise for all to hear.

I loved to play with kaleidoscopes as a child

The balloon man sold them on the beach

My vision shifts like the pieces of glass

And I am sometimes home

And sometimes not.

And still

I have forgotten why I came.

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Voices Within-2020 :: Setu, February 2020