October 21, 2016
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Where am I?
This place so familiar
the banyan tree with its drooping branches~I see a swing amid the cobwebs of my mind
and hear squeals of laughter and my voice,
‘make it go higher’!This courtyard with slabs of grey stone
sheets broken with unruly grass along
their joints~~
my naked dancing feet convey words unspoken!These men with their hungry eyes,
remind of a time when a little girl on the swing;
taken by force, her mouth covered--
away from her brother, cutting all ties!Ugly men, chewing betel leaves,
gnarled hands and joints, smoking pipes,
my body keeping rhythm with ancient music
my eyes closed, my memories like movies
flashing in and out, crying for common identity.And now I see a pair of old eyes--
behind old beaten blinds of a window, spread apart
with thin brown fingers: a fleeting wave of identity--
My breath in my chest, tight like a vise
lets out a sigh--------Those old pair of eyes, they belong to my mother!!
ZSA © Oct. 2016.
Comments (7)
what stirring words ~ blessings to you ~
Your poem is poignant.
Today my mother had to change rooms again, as she now needs more care than they could give her on the memory unit. If I were younger and stronger I would try to take care of her here at home. But even with help, it Would be too much for me now.
So sad to see our parents age. Their world gets smaller and smaller. I remember in Ecclesiastes it mentions 'fears shall be in the way'. So true as people age and fear those things out of their comfort zones.
@ata_grandma: It's so nice your mom is still here. It's so sad we get old, but I want to stay young at heart forever.
Memories like smoke that billows and disappears... It is a word or sound or a scent on the breeze that unlocks the chest and the memories spill out. Then they fade away until another day.
@murisopsis: Love the comment Val. This is exactly how I feel too. This poem is the result of a movie I had seen about forty or fifty years ago. It is a historic movie, in that it is true. The little girl was kidnapped from her yard in the early 19th century and was taken to a palace where she eventually became a courtesan. She returns to her home a decade or so later as a dancer, and sees her mother across the threshold of her home.
@fwren: Thank you. And may you be blessed also.
@mcbery: Aging parents are such treasures.
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