Hollow as a termite infested tree,
Stomach churning fear and anxiety,
Squatting on the platform
Head bowed, in her eyes a storm
Of regret, guilt, shame,
Chanting her son’s name
Like a talisman, she clutched
At any stray mite of hope offered
By the khaki-clad, lathi wielding
Women, sisters pretending
For her sake that all will be well.
Feet like trunks of young mangroves
Passed to and fro without pause,
Looking ahead with sightless eyes
She ignored the words of advice,
Eat, drink water at least, they said,
Lost in the hell in her own head
She sat like a stone, unmoving,
Recalling her child’s face smiling,
A demonic howl rose inside
Which the uncaring crowd pushed aside.
She cursed the day they left home.
A rush of hot blood filled her ears
Hearing “Ma” shouted near
Craning her neck, she leapt up
Saw her five-year-old step
Down from the shoulders of a man
Into her aching arms he ran.
She hugged her precious load to her heart
Promised him, never would they be apart.
With a smile like the sun, she turned
To thank those kind souls who helped
To find her lost child.
***
Foam
The gentle swell of the sea
Raised and dropped him rhythmically,
Nothing held him but warm salt water
All around for miles and miles.
Sunlight pierced his eyelids
he held them shut, not wanting to look
to think, to remember,
all he had done, lived through
and suffered at the hands of men
like him but mean as snakes.
A start-up was his business plan
Wild success met his work
Sweated his guts to scale the top
Borrowed cash to expand
They bled it dry in no time
Left him to gather the pieces
Friends deserted in hour of need
Wife left soon after
Love had withered with the treasure,
Life had taught him a hard lesson.
A scrape of something rough
Against the back of his knees
Turned his head to see
A smooth black hump rising
Below the waves of the sea
The creature swam closer still
He felt his heart beating fast
Would she eat him alive?
In a panic, he swam towards the shore
Vowed to start afresh once more.
***
Alone-ness
Golden-yellow light suffuses the cosy room
Full of well-dressed, beautiful, low-talking men
And women in warm pastel shades, holding
Flutes of champagne, ice cold, twinkling
Rings, raised to pursed lips, manicured
Nails, touch each other’s arm delicately
to make a point, pale mascaraed eyes
searching for weaknesses in dress
and appearance, in accessories and manners,
of guests carefully curated by the hosts,
(noted systematically by the retina),
to be torn into later, with partners and
intimate friends, sharing the gory details.
In that social warzone, alone-ness
Is a carapace, each carries within,
Under the clothes of public duress.
***
Haiku
Memories
The waves recede
Leaving behind-
Memories.
Home
A bird’s nest
Tangled mess -
She oils my hair.
Traffic
One lane traffic
Heavy rush-
Of ants.
***
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