Paper Boats and Muted Screams

By Ashita Ashish Ahuja

Dear Mumma, I call for a storm to arrive right away,

For thunder to roar repeatedly and for heavy showers all day.

Dark clouds swirling through the restless sky,

A list of questions, with plenty of “hows” and “whys.”

No interruptions, questions, distractions.

I want you around, but not with your phone.

Just you beside me and the world held at bay,

Creating memories together, not staying at home alone

.

I long for fluffy omelets; you forget I’m a child after all,

I can't fight him by myself; he’s scary, muscular, and tall.

And take me for trips where I can touch the snow.

Can it be just the two of us, please? The only family I know.

Mumma, were you lonely when you were younger too,

In a house as mammoth as the one in which we stay?

Did you pretend to play with your parents

When in reality they were always away?

The rains are here, the skies are gray,

I’ve lost count of the paper boats I’ve made today.

I sit alone beneath the shed,

Watching raindrops splash on the garden bed.

I’m bored of ripples; they drift, then go,

I’ve learned how to mimic the sound of an engine’s beat.

I’ve run out of paper to fold and throw,

Look, Mumma! I’m ready to sit in the captain’s seat.

Does Uncle K do the same with you?

He enters my room when the night is still.

He presses his hand where he shouldn’t pursue,

My teacher said it’s something that might make me ill.

I don’t want to gather my toys around,

Or teach Mr. Monkey his ABCs out loud.

At Ludo I win, at Ludo I lose,

Rolling the dice for a player I choose.

Can you keep a secret, Mumma?

Sometimes I dress up in your clothes.

Not because I like the glitter or drama,

But because Uncle K tells me to, I suppose.

That’s why your lipstick shrinks a bit,

And I wear your red blouse, although it’s not the perfect fit.

I often smell of your perfume too,

He says he loves when I smell like you.

By Ashita Ashish Ahuja