SUMITRA MISHRA

SUMITRA MISHRA

A MOTHER’S AGONY

The ghastly wound on the skull

Gaped

With red-shot eyes

Reprimanding my shocked silence,

The thick black hair

Soaked in blood

Turned stiff in my hands

Like a stalk of hay

When I tried to wash them

With my tears

My bruised heart pulsated

Like a blocked engine.

Your fair face seemed

To shine

With the angelic grace of innocence

No sign of anguish or fear.

I was shocked

Was it the knife or the bullet?

Were you inside the trench

Or on the tank?

Were you shouting

When you fell or daydreaming?

Your engagement ring was broken,

So was her heart.

The media report

Of last night’s scuffle at the camp

The orders

To march up the frozen dark hills,

How did I sleep

When you were lying so cold?

Your words last night

Echo in my ears

Gnaw like cancer on my marrow,

Yet they debate, dispute and discuss,

Hardly they understand

The agony

Of a Mother’s heart,

For them death or massacre is also politics,

Like temples, religion, and humbug compensation!!!

Don’t stare like that!

Blink, blink or wink in your naughty way!

FAMILY ALBUM

My mom sat by the hearth

Cooking fish broth and vegetables

Wood fire and dung cakes crackled

Like the damp crackers,

Dad was hooked in his library,

We waited for some entertainment

We had no TV, radio, tape recorder.

My elder sister

Always up with some trick to entertain us

Ludo, Business, Chess, Chinese Checker, Puzzles

Or illustrated stories from the Fairy Tales!

She came with old family albums

November 1978 to December 2004.

1978, What a bizarre show!

The black and white photos of

My parent’s wedding

A sleepy village in dark shadows,

No electricity,

Mom’s face drowned under her silken veil

Papa’s face serious, calculating

But eyes shining with happiness

Grandma carrying a decorated pot

With mango leaves and coconut,

She looked so sad and tired,

My aunt standing behind my mom in a saree

With a conch in her right hand and lips twirled

They look almost alike, undistinguishable.

The 1985 album, still black and white

My two sisters sit holding each other in a studio

In almost similar dress and shoes

Only colours are different

One a potato face with a crown of curly hair

The other a doll with big eyes spread wide in fear

I am still somewhere- perhaps still far away in the cloud.

Now the 1990’s, all colourful albums

Almost me and me on the centre stage

My family in the background

Parents hugging, sisters playing or petting

Grandma or grandpa holding me tight like a bundle

Me with my friends, with bat and balls, kites and cars,

All of us in our best dresses-picnicking with Pa’s students

My sisters looked so thin-only bright eyes and unkempt curls

Were they sick or not properly fed?

But my mom is a good cook and thinks always of food!

I discovered a humiliating pose of mine

Me sitting at the tabla, hands poised, eyes smoky

With boredom, my teacher – a thin man squeaky as a mouse.

How well did I play?

I asked my sisters

They laugh out loud.

Your mind on the playground

You played for hours only with your fingers.

“Dinner is ready, would you all come?”

Pleads my mom.

My fingers press the pages of the album

Trying to relive the notes of the past

My child-self pulls forward into now.

                                   

A FLOWER OF FIRE

I was only a sweet seventeen

When I first met him in the class;

A ring of halo beaming between his thick brows

A deep sadness swirling around the corners of his mouth

A dream to touch the skies dancing in the glitter of his big black eyes

A frenzied hip-hop of passion whirling around his eyelids;

A flash of his light enlightened my sober grey soul

Caressing my shyness lovingly with a smile,

Something in him eased my discomfort

And thawed the snow inside my soul.

I was only a sweet seventeen

When he first addressed me in a secret corner

Uttering the words “I’m inclined towards you”,

The tremor and confidence in his voice won my heart

A spring rose bloomed on my lips as his steady gaze

Punctured the veil of my sham vanity and chastity,

My pores started collecting the honey of love

From the perfumed sweetness of his words

As I lied down on my bed reading his poetry

Inhaling the aroma of love from his lines

“I am here and you are there

A belt of fire in between”

Suddenly I became a flower of fire.

SUMITRA MISHRA