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Natasha Hurreeram-Boyjonauth Poem
Dadi
Sitting on the doorstep,
She looks at me with her loving eyes.
So weary, I ponder,
They seem to be holding so many mysteries.
They abound with untold tales,
I wonder.
I vow to myself; these stories, I shall hear someday, as she cajoles me to sleep.
She shields me from Rani’s slaps,
Every now and then.
She now snaps at me in a language; melodious song it seems at first.
But quickly it reaches a crescendo of all too familiar words which my ears were accustomed to.
Coming from the magnate of our family,
the revered one; who toils from 7 to 7 and can hardly stands a sound when he is back.
I feel the two have made a pact of some sort;
Otherwise why would they use the same disgruntled mellifluous words,
When they were cross.
Bemused I go on with the task at hand
Oiling the silver-haired roly-poly Dadi’s threads.
Yearning for another round of discordant bitterly words,
Strange why I found them amusingly endearing.
Cheekily I pulled her hair harder this time
With clumps of it ending on my sweaty palms.
Here they come the shower of the much-anticipated jingling jingling words.
Copyright © Natasha Hurreeram-Boyjonauth | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Natasha Hurreeram-Boyjonauth Poem
Prayer
Clasped were her hands, bowed was her head.
Standing in front of the idols, she invoked her for the beads she had to shed.
Unashamedly the precious pearls overcome her vision.
Here she was in communion with the one, the Supreme, her icon.
A sanctuary where the contents of her soul were unreservedly poured.
A haven where the mask of wellness and the facade of pretentious happiness were disrobed.
An urge too strong to be ignored, she laid bare her dignity.
Here she was herself, she felt herself, she glorified herself in serenity.
Letting go of the intense sorrow that consumed her spirit, she sought solace from Mother Goddess.
Her faith in that powerful entity survived her through the darkness.
The script of her life unbeknownst to her was her blessing.
The heartache, struggles, stress and strain was all her doing.
Now with the eyes close, the soothing presence embraced every figment, every shred and every particle of the fickle ornament;
A gift to the child coming to her in prayer fervent.
Copyright © Natasha Hurreeram-Boyjonauth | Year Posted 2021
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