She looked at his deep sombre face,
The only familiar being in a building
Full of unfamiliar people, colours, and voices.
She cringed in pain, as the saree clung
Once more to the stitched area.
She had insisted on wearing one, she felt
Naked in that flimsy gown, she wore it over
Her saree, her mother gave it to her last
Durga puja, or was it the year before the last?
He was finished with the doctor, she could see
He slowly opened the wooden door, with the
Little glass inset, hardly heard what he was saying.
She knew though, it was a goodbye. He had to work.
He'd come by tomorrow, she was sure of that too.
All of a sudden, she found herself, whispering, not quite
Sure if it was aloud, or to herself, "I am scared",
In the only language she knew, he had left by then.
The red clock on the wall opposite heard her and ticked
As silently as her, in response, told her it was 11:30.
She wet the already damp pillow with her tears,
Her body throbbing, shivering in the May air, as her groin,
And gradually, she passed into undisturbed sleep.
She woke up to someone closing the door behind her,
And felt oddly violated, watched. She adjusted her sari
And felt the little beads of perspiration around her throat.
It was parched, she needed water, but she was unsure
What they called it in their language, or whether they
Would let her have water at all. She looked around to find some,
When she noticed they had brought him in, a tiny little basket
On shiny iron stilts, a mosquito net rising above, like a netted muffin.
The moonlight cast eerie shadows through the net, through the
Solitary window, and a cool breeze seemed to be trying to enter
Only being petrified, shooed away by the whirr of the ceiling fan.
She slowly propped her body up, and heard the hum
Of a thousand mosquitoes, celebrating maybe on the birth,
Or maybe just because they were feeding off her blood while she
Was too exhausted to even lift an arm, her abdomen was on fire
She now realised she was hungry, she slowly touched her belly,
And looked again at the netted muffin, and realised she could see her legs again.
She smiled, she had to touch the person who she brought to life
She slowly climbed down, her legs felt like rubber, painful rubber though
And slowly she felt blood rush to her limbs and set them on fire.
She trudged on, light years she covered with footsteps, until she glanced
Upon his face, serene, calm, asleep. She looked at the little slits
For his eyes, and wondered when his eyes would spout, if it'd hurt him
If it'd hurt her. She reprimanded herself to let that thought come in,
To be that selfish, to be that grossly self-involved, and slowly she bent
Put her hands under the netting and touched the bundle that was her son.
She supported his head with her hand and slowly picked him up,
He was heavier than he looked, or maybe she was weaker than she thought
And slowly she looked at him in the pale, silver moonlight, she looked
At his dark skin, at his tiny pudgy fingers and toes, and felt his softness
Against her soft chest. She wondered how she'd know when to feed him,
She thought she'd practice now, and without a second thought, she propped out
Her breast, and began hovering his face around her, covering him with her saree
From anyone who came in the room, human, feline or mosquito. He was hers.
He, disturbed from his sleep, started weeping, a silent hum at first, a blood-curling
Shriek at the next minute. She grew alarmed, she didn't know what to do
So she slowly rocked him, that seemed right, and he gradually quietened, she took
Him to the window, and together they looked at the moon, he through slits.
The nurse came at 4:20, carrying a pitcher of water, the red clock
And the squeaky door announced her visit, she was still by the window
She said something to her, she pointed at the baby and smiled, but she didn't want her
Baby to be pointed at, she slowly walked back to the crib, put the baby in
And massaged her dead arms to get some feeling, and washed the green-black excreta
On her gown, and her saree, and then drank a glass of water, she was hungry.
But maybe, he was hungry too, she dragged herself again to the crib
This time she didn't pick him up, she looked at his face and she knew she could tell
When he'd be hungry. She reached for the bed, this time just a few footsteps
Checked the stitches again, and silently looked at the moonlight, and whispered,
Sure that she said it aloud, sure that she said to herself, sure that he slept calmly as ever,
"I am a Mother."
The only familiar being in a building
Full of unfamiliar people, colours, and voices.
She cringed in pain, as the saree clung
Once more to the stitched area.
She had insisted on wearing one, she felt
Naked in that flimsy gown, she wore it over
Her saree, her mother gave it to her last
Durga puja, or was it the year before the last?
He was finished with the doctor, she could see
He slowly opened the wooden door, with the
Little glass inset, hardly heard what he was saying.
She knew though, it was a goodbye. He had to work.
He'd come by tomorrow, she was sure of that too.
All of a sudden, she found herself, whispering, not quite
Sure if it was aloud, or to herself, "I am scared",
In the only language she knew, he had left by then.
The red clock on the wall opposite heard her and ticked
As silently as her, in response, told her it was 11:30.
She wet the already damp pillow with her tears,
Her body throbbing, shivering in the May air, as her groin,
And gradually, she passed into undisturbed sleep.
She woke up to someone closing the door behind her,
And felt oddly violated, watched. She adjusted her sari
And felt the little beads of perspiration around her throat.
It was parched, she needed water, but she was unsure
What they called it in their language, or whether they
Would let her have water at all. She looked around to find some,
When she noticed they had brought him in, a tiny little basket
On shiny iron stilts, a mosquito net rising above, like a netted muffin.
The moonlight cast eerie shadows through the net, through the
Solitary window, and a cool breeze seemed to be trying to enter
Only being petrified, shooed away by the whirr of the ceiling fan.
She slowly propped her body up, and heard the hum
Of a thousand mosquitoes, celebrating maybe on the birth,
Or maybe just because they were feeding off her blood while she
Was too exhausted to even lift an arm, her abdomen was on fire
She now realised she was hungry, she slowly touched her belly,
And looked again at the netted muffin, and realised she could see her legs again.
She smiled, she had to touch the person who she brought to life
She slowly climbed down, her legs felt like rubber, painful rubber though
And slowly she felt blood rush to her limbs and set them on fire.
She trudged on, light years she covered with footsteps, until she glanced
Upon his face, serene, calm, asleep. She looked at the little slits
For his eyes, and wondered when his eyes would spout, if it'd hurt him
If it'd hurt her. She reprimanded herself to let that thought come in,
To be that selfish, to be that grossly self-involved, and slowly she bent
Put her hands under the netting and touched the bundle that was her son.
She supported his head with her hand and slowly picked him up,
He was heavier than he looked, or maybe she was weaker than she thought
And slowly she looked at him in the pale, silver moonlight, she looked
At his dark skin, at his tiny pudgy fingers and toes, and felt his softness
Against her soft chest. She wondered how she'd know when to feed him,
She thought she'd practice now, and without a second thought, she propped out
Her breast, and began hovering his face around her, covering him with her saree
From anyone who came in the room, human, feline or mosquito. He was hers.
He, disturbed from his sleep, started weeping, a silent hum at first, a blood-curling
Shriek at the next minute. She grew alarmed, she didn't know what to do
So she slowly rocked him, that seemed right, and he gradually quietened, she took
Him to the window, and together they looked at the moon, he through slits.
The nurse came at 4:20, carrying a pitcher of water, the red clock
And the squeaky door announced her visit, she was still by the window
She said something to her, she pointed at the baby and smiled, but she didn't want her
Baby to be pointed at, she slowly walked back to the crib, put the baby in
And massaged her dead arms to get some feeling, and washed the green-black excreta
On her gown, and her saree, and then drank a glass of water, she was hungry.
But maybe, he was hungry too, she dragged herself again to the crib
This time she didn't pick him up, she looked at his face and she knew she could tell
When he'd be hungry. She reached for the bed, this time just a few footsteps
Checked the stitches again, and silently looked at the moonlight, and whispered,
Sure that she said it aloud, sure that she said to herself, sure that he slept calmly as ever,
"I am a Mother."
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