Saturday, February 17, 2007

Moving

"It's just the wind, ma!"
I had decided
I would tell her that
If she stared again.

As the Civic whizzed past
Several screeching
Electrical posts
I blew silent
Bubbles
Chatoyant with her name.

As they bounced
Irregularly
On the gnarled tree
I spotted familiar
Faces amongst the roots
And suddenly
On the clouds above.

Broken white stripes
Raced under the wheels
And head towards
The home
Which isn't, anymore.

Everything was bundled
"Will arrive tomorrow."
They had said.
But I wouldn't entrust them
With memories.

I poked my head further out
And felt the air
Drag itself,
Pulling me homeward
What-was-home-ward.

In the blinding sun
And the raucous air
I saw them again
Waving out to me
Saying goodbye.
Some were like
My brothers -
The kinds
Never born under
The same roof.
Some had pushed
Me down in a game
And were hoping
That I didn't
Carry hard feelings.

Some were
The only ones
Who knew
About Mr. Sharma's
Broken window pane.
Some were
Sole witness
To the ghost
Who walked in
Mrs. Mani's apartment.
We swore never
To tell anyone
About that.
But they also said
That it wouldn't
Be fun anymore.

All the aunties
Came over to hug us
And Mrs. Kare
Warned me
Against marrying anyone
Other than
Her Swati.
I promised.
Mr. Dushyant
Returned the kite
Which had cut him
Near his nose.

When they knew
The Civic wouldn't stop
They ran -
While she sat thereWill you ever know?
Hugging her knees
And the soft toy
I had stolen from my sister
For her.

I saw them rush
Behind my car
Hoping to bring my home
Wherever I went.
But she had sat there
Letting her tears
Run on her skirt,
Creating patterns
Never understood.

She knew I was
Someone who only left.
Someone who never
Will have a home.
Someone who will
Never understand
What it is to stay.
Someone who will
Never understand
Her tears.
Someone who will
Never have tears
Of his own.

"It's just the wind, ma!"

5 comments:

  1. Parvati1:11 AM

    Vivid.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Letting her tears
    Run on her skirt,
    Creating patterns
    Never understood.


    Touching.....

    ReplyDelete
  3. Anonymous1:24 PM

    Hi Eroteme!

    Really made me recall the free-spirited me :)

    Liked the way this post makes one reminisce about one's childhood.

    Memories of friends who had ruddy cheeks and merry eyes like a Renoir painting...

    Your posts/words paint a vivid picture in my mind's eys many a time...

    Thanks

    (*_*)

    Uma

    Btw...are you into painting too?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Dear P,
    Merci! :-)

    Dear S,
    Glad you liked those lines... :-)

    Dear U,
    Its a pleasure! :-) Am I into painting? A little bit (not Tanjore Art) and I paint occasionally, when I am in the mood...

    ReplyDelete
  5. so much detail .. what a splendid imagination you posses

    ReplyDelete