A heartbeat in the womb
full of innocence
A heartbeat near the breast
full of expectations
nine months of progression
-a cell to a being
nine months from conception
-a web of emotion
cumulates to a tearing pain
-ends with the first wail
a heartbeat in the hands
-a bond of love, a bond of trust
trembling hands meet the wrinkling ones
as the small mouth opens
to thirstily suck the nectar
at that moment a mother is born.
My lost expression must have scared the bearer of news, for he was shifting uncomfortably on my brown Berber carpet. The painful reality was clawing my heart, my mind unable to process the reality of my mother’s demise.
Grasping for breath I managed to reach my bedroom, my sanctuary for all miseries and joy. Like a bystander I watched in my inward eye, her every movement and smile. She was so vibrant, so full of life. Then just like that she bid adieu to us.
Recalling her to-do list I remembered her starting an album for my brother and me. Just like the unfinished album, her life would not see the new formations of everyday life.
Was I really crying so much for her going away? Or in some selfish corner of my mind I was crying for the little girl in me, who would be lost forever. Where would I go now to lament? Who would be biased to all my shortcomings?
Did she go to a better place? I fervently prayed for a no. How could she be in a better place leaving the loves of her life behind her like that? Maybe if she missed us enough, she would get a passage to visit us in her ghostly avatar.
Grief turned to anger. I was very angry with HIM too, which I demonstrated by throwing a pile of neatly folded clothes on the floor. Yes, that felt better. Tears now pouring freely down, I clutched by pillow tightly across my breast and found a corner near the dresser. My body raking with sobs, I saw Her standing near the bed post. Of course I knew that she was a fragment of my imagination but who cared? She was there wasn’t she?
“Mamma,” I said in my little girl voice. “You came back?”
“Sorry Darling, This is not a return from the dead episode. This is your usual stubbornness of not letting me go.” Trust my mom to scold me from the Dead. Well, I did have some issues with her.
“How will I manage Mom?”
“Like you always did,” she was calmness personified. “With me by your side.”
With that she came towards me and entered my soul. She was inside me now. Fifteen minutes later when I opened the door, my husband, the bearer of the news, was surprised to see the metamorphoses of a child to a women in me as I confidently picked up the telephone to book my airline tickets
I am afraid of you O Happiness!
Lest u turn your back to me.
Every morning I get up thinking,
Have u bid your adieu to me.
Pessimist my mind labels me
But then Life with her naughty smile
Has shown me
How fickle you can be!
What do we do to hold onto you?
Bribe you, seduce you or just let you go-
All the wisdom in the world
Has not taught us how to keep you.
But take it as warning O Happiness!
Let me not live too long without you.
For if I accept life as it is
Will my heart again open the door for you?
Dormant thoughts are rising inside me again.
Deep inside me there is an awakening-
Should I listen to my dormant thoughts?
Or should the door be closed again?
Bygone years mock me,
Asks me if I regret, being a somnambulist.
Basking in the glory of my other half-
Own it up! Screams my hypocrite mind,
It was the lackadaisical life which you could not resist.
So why am I questioning now- searching now?
For the women in me who has lost herself willingly.
Should I search for her in life’s alley?
Or close the door to her rude awakening.
Till now I was an avid reader. Writing short stories have always been a hidden passion. Well, now I am out of the closet taking tentative steps in the literary world.I have taken part in few competitions. Yet to make a mark of myself. Through this blog I would like to share my journey as a writer. Would love if more like minded people would share their views with me.How thoughts cloud your mind when you don’t know in which direction you are going, but when those same thoughts get a purpose, all words get a meaning, all words look that they were created for me, to be penned down. Whether through poetry or fiction,when I started expressing myself, even the green grass outside my door seemed to speak to me.
via Hello world!.