Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
The Mother near the Patchwork Hammock
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
In an example of juxtaposition of the old and the new,
a toddler coos delightedly in a patchwork hammock
hanging from an ancient tree, unaware of the imminent rain.
The mother works at the construction site,
one eye fixed on her child. Worried.
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
“If you cannot work with full concentration,
you are free to leave this minute.”
Bellows the bellicose supervisor, hurling fiery darts at the mother.
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
With tumbling hair and defiant eyes, the girl-child,
a picture of avenging motherhood scowls at the man,
and with indignant strides hurries toward the hammock.
In one quick swoop, she scoops up the child.
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
The hammock swings and sways
as the mother croons a lullaby,
clasping the toddler to her heart.
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
The heartless man looks on, fire in his eyes.
“My job is here.” Say the mother’s eyes-
twin twinklers, celebrating motherhood.
Clouds rumble, and folks grumble, stumbling on squelchy mud.
The Surf and the Child
The little one with golden ringlets
stood looking at the ferocious surf.
Not alarmed,
But charmed
as it came hurtling over the reef.
Eyes transfixed at a tiny leaf caught in a whirlpool.
She clapped in glee, breaking into a litany of chortles.
Bowing to this standing ovation,
the surf withdrew slowly- ever so slowly,
the brown coral rocks in full view.
Tiny pink toes dug deep into the mud.
Ah, the dimpled roundness of toddler-hood,
looked good on the two-feet- nothing figure.
She frolicked, skipped, and hopped,
entered the water, gingerly
and came out trickling and glistening.
Her eyes fell on a frilly hat, lying on the beach.
With a squeal of delight, she reached for the hat,
admiration pouring from her eyes.
She put it on her golden head and broke into dance.
I left the beach, the image of the girl etched in my mind
– a preening- prancing- pirouetting diva of four.
Did I just infer that I wanted an encore?
Lassitude
Stooped by the burden of lassitude,
a whimsical, brooding look on his face,
the disheveled man bent down to tie his shoelace,
giving vent to a long drawn-out sigh.
A momentary stab of panic shot through him.
He took almost a minute to tie his shoelaces,
bracing himself for another panic attack.
‘It will soon be back. It will soon be back, he mumbled,
fingers on the pulse. “I know, it will be back.”
130 – 140, he counted the heart rate.
Fingers refusing to leave the pulse.
It did not move beyond 72.
Was something wrong?
Is it normal to wait for panic attacks?
His shoulders became more hunched.
He scrunched up his face, waiting.
Another long, plaintive sigh.
Then there was magic. He gaped.
“What a beauty!” He exclaimed,
looking at a chocolate brown bird,
fascinated by the white stripes running down its neck.
The Pheasant- tailed Jacana, flaunted its silky golden, yellow neck,
and disappeared making nasal sounds;
so did the panic attacks haunting and hounding the stooped man.
He straightened up and like a curious child,
watched beguiled.
Bio: Academic, poet, novelist, essayist, TEDx speaker, Dr. Santosh Bakaya,
winner of International Reuel Award for literature for her long poem, Oh Hark! [2014] has been critically acclaimed for her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad of Bapu [Vitasta, 2015], and has written 28 books across different genres, besides editing many anthologies. Her latest book [poetry] is Sunset in a Cup [2024].
Her Tedx talk on the Myth of Writer’s Block is very popular in creative writing circles.
