Skip to main content

My Father Wrote Me Poems


In my mothers womb

I heard a voice talk
Unlike other infants
And to my mothers wrath,
It was my father sharing
Many of his thoughts.


One day about a prince
The other day about some frogs
But the best was only one
The one told everyday
About dolls and frocks.


As I grew from womb to school
He taught me how to dance
How to spell my name
How to walk
Everything…. [Memory fades away]


Then one night as I slept
I heard him softly walk away
I pretended to be asleep
And he preferred it that way
I guess he was scared
Scared, I would blame.


I never stopped him
And he never stayed
We slowly grew apart
And things began to change
I learned to live without him
To dance my own way
I even learned to write
Though our style's grew astray


Then one day
15 years from the last in womb
I sent him a poem
I wanted to know what he thought
If he thought I could rhyme


A year passed
And no reply
I gave up
But continued to write.


4th of June: Today


I opened up my mail
Scanning through birthday cards,
I saw his name
I wondered what it was about
Wishing it was “happy birthday”.


He had written a single word
The one I’ll never forget
Fairies dwarfs and little frocks
Can never correct that day


“Goodbye”, he wrote
Everything else left unsaid


My father always wrote me poems.
This was the last one he sent.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Could I have imagined you?

Every year, I think about you. Not too many times, but consistently, a few times. And each time I am not sure how I should feel. There is a vague sense of loss, a subtle tinge of abandonment, a painful realisation of independence. But mostly, there is just a numb nothingness.   Who were you? I am not even sure I remember your face. Your smile, yes. Your eyes, too. But in pieces, in context. I can't imagine your reaction in a new situation. I can't see you as you may have become. I can only see the frozen moments that I have embalmed in my head.   I wonder if you feel the need to see me. If you imagine what it may feel like to talk to me now. If you wish you had known me all this time. If I am even a real person to you. If you have convinced yourself that I don't exist.   Perhaps it isn't as simple as moving on, as erasing, as avoiding. Maybe it's an intense removal, a complete denial. I don't hate you. I don't love you. It's an absence of anything ta
25 comments
Read more

Birthing Rumi - Part 1

The next many blog posts will chronicle my most significant journey yet - of becoming and being Rumi's mama. I considered starting a separate blog but then decided against it. While there is a lot to be said, my identity as his mom is not separate from the rest of me. In being his mama, I have become more of me. And in embracing this with the rest of me, and finding and resolving the contradictions, I have felt more myself than ever before. So I chose to put this here. Where the rest of my life and memories live.   “This is pressure, not pain.” A simple mantra I kept repeating as I went through labour. My waters broke at 3.30 am as Loi (the father to be) and I binge watched Bridgerton. I was one week overdue at this point. We had tried nearly every trick in the book to get baby out. The latest was eating a spicy labour inducing burger (yep, there is such a thing), taking a bumpy ride and eating extremely spicy daal. I had been having contractions (false/real who knows?) for weeks. 
13 comments
Read more

Rollercoaster - Part 5

After what felt like an endless night, we woke up relaxed. And then my brain panicked. They hadn't called from the NICU since 5.45 am. Rumi was waking ever 2-3 hours on an average. So at 9.30 am that could have only meant that they didn't get the memo from the night nurses and demand feeding was again under contention.  Thankfully mom had come back to the hospital and I felt better when Lohit offered to go to the NICU to speak to the nurses and also understand if and when they would shift us to Paediatrics so we could be with Rumi in the same room. Lohit wrote to me that he had met the Paediatrician and they were open to shifting us. However they weren't sure if they would be able to find a room. By now I had begun to question my decision to not buy a breast pump and not read up enough on this topic. So when when hospital offered to get me to meet a lactation consultant, we jumped at the opportunity. She helped me understand how to pump and also got me to do it in front of
Post a Comment
Read more