Writing Poems After My Children Leave

By Rishika Mallik

If only life didn't sting

Puddles and creaks and sudden blows

That follow her faltering hands

Swinging to the cries of that burly mad dog

She whimpers, wails, withers...little by little

Until nothing remains...

But life not only stings, it gnaws

Nibbles at their paltry savings stuffed inside a box

He enters and grabs what he wants

The smell lingers and his drunken body

Convulses, thrashes

But what breaks her?

Is it the children shaking as they watch?

Or the gashes that persist?

Or HIS pitiful cries when he's on his knees

And folds his hands and begs her to forgive?

I don't know

I can never know

I only see the end of her old saree twisted into a knot

That holds the key to their damp, dingy nest

She frets, she prays, but serves them while the food's still hot

Her kids aren't safe when she's slogging under my watch

I have heard the story multiple times while I shuffled

Through channels and scanned her in between shows

She poured, kept pouring and pouring and her eyes bulged

She came undone

She mistook my smile, my curiosity for love

Her spirit churned

When assembling the wasted love, wasted tears

Shrunk by years of toil

In quiet submission she burned

The nest where she mothered

Her little chicks, warmed by her love

Was soon tattered askew by his fists and his grunts

And a red sludge painted their everyday lives

Into a series of twisted affronts

Sometimes I wonder what could have been

Sometimes I think of her

Of the cracks that grew...and just kept growing

Until one day, she plunged herself to gloom

I put down my pen and let my mind wander and brood

Where do I stand?

Years have passed by

I have been a good daughter, a good wife

I ensured my children succeeded in life

I have a happy marriage

My husband once cooked for me when I was sick

He is the sweetest husband

I would never discard the love, the warmth I received

She screamed and I listened with unease

But in silence

I organise the shelves, the wardrobes, the desks

And in my free time, I collect patches of memories she left

And stitch together a sad, bitter song

Such a life of hardships I could never endure

And then I think...

Think of the time I gifted her a brand new saree

And asked "why don't you leave him?"

"No madam" her answer baffled me

But now I too have come to understand

"When the children leave, he is the only family I'll have"

Things accumulate dust when you live alone

By Rishika Mallik