Friday, March 4, 2011

When something slips

Someone must have slashed my palm
Trying to grab my hand bag
It must have been on the bus...
Oh, I was going to the temple
It was mother's death anniversary...
I know, at my age,
Why should I observe these rituals?
Don't you see, I now feel closer to them
Than to you...
What did you say?
"You are not dead
Till you are dead!"
Who said that, oh, it just popped up
You must have read it somewhere...
I cannot stop thinking of death
I was not even by their side when they left
Mother, everyone said, was so restless
During her last moments
That she got up from her bed
Laid down again, struggled to her feet, tried to walk some
Before flopping on the bed
And shutting the door on us...
Did I tell you
I had to have sutures on my hand?
I was going to the temple...

2 comments:

P. Venugopal said...

beautiful! craftful mixing of memory, unexpressed sentiment and the experience on the bus.

Prabhakar said...

thanks. we are all headed there.