On the death of a baby girl

In the shade of our tamarind tree,

I often think about you, my baby.

You would have been four by now,

Maybe just started school.

Your mother loves you, I want you

To know that. But then you always

question. You ask me, "Why did you

stop me ? Was I not reason enough for

Happiness ?"

You were, my child, you were.

I stopped you, I did not want you to

die in the way I do. Every single day.

My blood and tears are reason enough

To stop you. Maybe some other world

Is ours. Where I can keep you hidden

From vile eyes, words and touch.

Where I can see you smile, walk and grow.

Where I can beam after watching your laughter.

In the shade of our tamarind tree,

I often think about you, my baby.

Comments

UNUTTERED WHISPERS

I know it was you, following me all along. I don’t need eyes to see you. It started raining and I paced up. You were anxious about me.You offered me your umbrella with your face hidden.Only if you had understood me ! I never said those three words, but I thought you knew. P.S 1:My first attempt at 55 fiction. P.S : A real big thank you to all blogger friends who made my birthday "A day to remember".

ILLUSIONS OF REALITY...

The more you point out my mistakes, The more you are drawn towards me. The more you try to hurt me, The more you bleed in your heart. The more you run away from me, The more my memories haunt you. The more you want to forget me, The more you are reminded of my presence. The more you want to chase me away, The closer I come to you. The more you hate me, The more you end up loving me. The more you call me an “illusion” The more I dawn as the reality of your life….

CONFESSION OF A WOMAN...

When I'm born,I'm jeered at.When I'm a child,I'm made to believe that my reason for existence is somebody else.While I'm growing up,I'm discouraged to question.My brain and heart are numbed.I cannot die too,since it will bring infamity to my family.People would say,"At this age,what could have forced her to terminate herself ? She failed to materialize her fantasy.Such bad morals." I fast for the well-being of my father and brothers.When I outgrow my frocks,I'm let off to another household.There, I work for others, without pay.I have children but they treat me like a door-mat.Here too,I fast for my husband's and childrens' long,peaceful life.When the man of the house,who happens to be my "husband" dies,I shed a part of my soul.I have no right to live then,I just breathe and sit in a corner.Rest of my life is spent in praying-for death.They say, "Woman needs a man.In childhood,its father.In youth,its husband and in old age,i...

FranKophone

Search This Blog