Too Late For Amends

For T. Ganesan (1931-1985) It is as though an unjust hand punished you As if the Adlerian guiltless position in the constellation wasn't enough toppling you from a pedestal You were groomed for position for heading a family vacated by the head himself out of time So they protected you pampered you the custom required it there were sisters whose dowries you were supposed to earn there were grounds whose circumferences you were designated to crush there were centuries and goals you were bound to knock with stick and bat there were exams you were deemed to sail through there were jobs you were merely to inherit on merit The second son was sacrificed He was too close a second They turned a deaf eye to your sacrificial deeds the suffocating cries "Work on what has been spoiled by the father and the mother." Other hands worked on the second son Other sacrifices nearly came to pass Fierce jungles swirling muddy rivers stalking cobras poisonous thorns aboriginal hunters even your suffocating arms to lock the broken neck fresh from a hanging These worked where the mother and father failed and instilled a wish for survival in your Abel How could you be blamed for being the first born boy if the second took longer to arrive or instead came as a baby girl Neither parent may be faulted How could either have known or foreseen Your traversing of the desert alone often in shame in fear of being found out You kept your back straight You honoured your position You wore that air of masterfulness in your stride in your respect for the meek in your willingness to come to the aid of the needy in your alas mind's reach bereft of the means to give it authority In your own mind you had wandered far as far and beyond the distances of your strides within three walls four posts open ground and air you never bothered with approving thumps on the back nor the little-watched heroic actions on some turf nor did you recount these match-winning feats in a thirst for applause You were the quintessential sportsman You played your last game alone far away from your folk You had no wish for a farewell Yet you are mourned in pain by all © T.Wignesan - April 14, 1993 [from the collection : back to background material, 1993]