I wrote this poem on Father's day but couldn't post it then as I was traveling. Returning to my hometown after three years and three deaths, wasn't easy. I wasn't even sure why I was going there except as a mark of respect for the people who were responsible for the person I am today. But, then I saw my aunt, standing at the door, waiting for us and I knew why we had been sent here. I saw the community that supported her and helped her survive through the pandemic. She was alone and yet, she wasn't. But whatever lay between the two - being alone and yet not, had helped her get through. This poem talks of that between. It needs edits but I am posting it anyway.
On Father's day today
I'm here
in the land of my forefathers
I had forgotten how my hometown
looked
and how it felt -
sitting around
the rickety dining table and feasting
on grandma's creations while she
hobbled around, smiling as she dried the dishes
or the sound of laughter that echoed in the halls
as the family gathered- every thing
was a point of discussion;heightened voices,
reddened cheeks, sides taken,
the right to expression allowed for all-
I listened as a child- sometimes shocked
and fearful
But, most often in awe and admiration
The memories
that had brought me home once
had gotten laden with layers of silent dust
and cobwebs of misunderstandings
A mold of ill-feeling had taken the place
of basking in the sunlit porch where
we once sat watching neighbours,
buses and rickshaws go by.
Often a person would wave and pause to
ask how we were doing and we would yell
from where we sat
and wish them well.
Three years of unspoken grief,
the death of roots that ran deep-
Had left us wilted, yellowing
All that remained was the
stump of a house- or so, I thought
I had forgotten how my hometown looked
and felt
until yesterday
when I returned
and heard my children
gush over the blushing mud,
the houses in peach, pink
and red made to match
the ocean of green all around
With specks of concrete structures
And the clear blue skies
Which they looked up at without having to squint their eyes
To see the tips of swaying coconut palms,
Crosses,crescent moons, spires and domes
'Ooh your town is beautiful,' my children said
amazement in their voices- as we crossed bridges
Over rivers - the horizon line clear.
I had forgotten how my hometown looked-
or how it felt- the scent
Home was now a shadow of the lives lived there.
I heard my uncle welcome us- years of conditioning makes the imagination run wild
The neighbours broke my reverie-
smiling warmly; they asked the children how they were and cooed excitedly over their resemblance to my mother.
The children said, 'We love it here,Mamma. They remember us.'
It made me smile - being remembered- isn't that what everyone wants?
I had forgotten how my hometown looked
and how good it felt
to be home.
This post is part of SoCS. Dan has provided the prompt for this week. He says, “Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “cent/scent/sent.” Use it as a noun or a verb. Have fun!”
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