Skip to main content

Child of terror



"Your father is a martyr", announces a throaty voice
I stand still, numb and bewildered.
My father was just my father
Whose shoulders were my pillows, whose heart my abode
My mom is strong, or maybe acts strong
"You can't cry, your husband's a martyr",  they announce
I see a storm kindling in her eyes
A storm enough to blow us rib by rib
I inhale despair, choking my lungs
I try to speak, I try to sob
Everything in me has died
"She is just a little child", I hear the world muse
I I I, I stammer, the child of terror.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Grandpa and me

I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents.  It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
2 comments
Read more

Life on wheels

The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more  can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing
2 comments
Read more

Cup of tea

Be his 'cup of tea' the world announced, My hena smeared hands decided my fate. I was a butterfly, wild, untamed. Who ran like the wind, even faster than the wind. But, my legs got shackled My run gave away to timid steps My dreams evaporated with the smoke that went curling from the hearth His 'cup of tea' was what I learning to become. I wish someone had said, it's OK to not be anyone's 'cup of tea' I wish someone had said, it's OK to be untamed I wish someone had said, it's OK to live your way But no one did, and I didn't dare I let myself die each day, each night. The veil covered by swollen heart but I felt naked within My wishes got choked in the dense kitchen air My essence got lost in time I became everything that wasn't me. I finally became his 'cup of tea' .
2 comments
Read more