Oblivion

By Christina Mariam Das

I am old and desperate,

all alone and separate,

into my mind comes memories rushing,

the only possession that I have left.

For a moment I become the child

who sobbed into his mother’s bosom

on thunderstorms,

who slid into his pocket candies kept away,

who jumped and swam in the cold,

who played tricks with wicked twigs,

who once was loved, adored.

Those long walks, the smell of hot rice

boiled in love.

Sometimes I am the old lover,

sometimes the troublemaker,

on some days I get married,

on another I remember my friends

I haven’t seen in long.

I see my father smile when I look in the mirror

and my mother’s love as I feed the stray.

In and out like a trance,

I let my past lay out its trace

as the dawn of my life draws near.

Behind these windows I exist,

for many have forgotten I do.

I keep hearing footsteps

of all those who walked in and out of my life.

Days go by and seasons change,

but I wait here

as the dawn of my life draws near.

At night I see my lover’s eyes,

I long to leave with her,

I see the little toes that were atop mine,

all sturdy and muscular now,

I see the little nose I wiped

flaring with rage at my existence.

I would keep the memories

and I would keep living there,

as the dawn of my life draws near

The things I long to see and feel in this oldage,

have become mere dreams

as I lie in bondage.

Many a times I long for stories to tell

and guide when wrong,

but I saw none of my grandchildren

for before I could they took me

here I know.

In oblivion I live, a meaningless existence,

as the dawn of my life draws near.

Besides I see many like me,

white haired with a toothless glee,

like wordless ghosts of the old,

us, old souls cry to be bold,

as we the unwanted continue to exist,

yearning for love,

the warmth of gentle palms on our skin,

as the dawn of my life draws nearer.

By Christina Mariam Das