THE
OLD MOTHER
- P C K Prem (India)
I lit a cigarette and stand
on an earth mount
it pleases as I look at
women in the fields,
with goats, sheep, cows and
buffaloes
scattered and grazing
and I hear a few forced
laughs.
In quick succession
they come close, talk and
go hurriedly
with animals,
urgency drives everyone and
I see nothing.
Twisting lips, grimacing
faces
and hesitant steps,
scribble a few words of
caution and homework
a burning chullaha,
firewood, water pitchers
make life of a housewife
dreary
but interesting,
and dull, painful and yet
she laughs and laughs
and looks sadly at the
trees and beyond the sky,
and silently prays for the
men folk
to grow, rise and live
as she brooms, sweeps,
cleans utensils, cooks food
and makes bed as she hums a
joyous tune.
It makes life complete she
was told years back
and I sit cross-legged
beside ma
as she bakes chapattis
in a chullaha and
fills chillum while father
like a lord,
sitting on bed waits for
the ancestral hookah.
****