The Full Circle

The pleasantries were exchanged
That was in the first quadrant
In the second
she threw back her head and laughed
and I splintered
weak-kneed & tongue-tied.
In the third
she tucked a rogue curl
behind her ears
I auctioned my soul to longing
In the fourth
she led me into the fields
where a million fireflies danced
“Stay with me and belong to no one else’
Foolishly I whispered.
I woke up alone and disheveled
the full circle
a noose around my neck.

Two Still Tango-ing Around

I picked up a lexicon and a thesaurus just to match steps with this man, 24 years ago, while he was writing pages long letters and poems for me.

24 years later, another poem for me. I am truly blessed.

Showers of Blessing
She is a Flower Child

Who Loved My Flaws

Held me Together as a Piece

Still Poles Apart in Thoughts

I Walked Alone

She Followed Me Silently

When Blessings Came Calling

She Called Out, be Gracious.

Two Still Tango-ing Around

Phinn’s Kite

“Don’t forget to buy the kite, mama” Phinn reminded his mother as he boarded the school bus.

It was as if he expected his mother, to let her busy day get in the way, once again forgetting his demand.

His mother Anita, a single mother, is a high school teacher who juggles her life between school, post-school coaching classes, and home-making, struggling to provide a comfortable life for her son. The child support from her estranged husband was not used for their sustenance. Anita had that money tucked away for her son’s higher education.

Phinn was a 6-year-old, intelligent, and practical beyond his age. He was upset that his mother doesn’t get to spend much time with him but he understood the demands of their current life.

Anita had coaching classes till 7 pm, 4 days a week and on those days, Phinn’s grandfather, Anita’s dad, Thomas, received him at the bus-stop. Together they would walk to his home which was near the town’s children’s park.

Phinn called him “Grandy”. Grandy would make sandwiches for him while he did his homework. Then they would go down to the park, where his Grandy would be reading, seated on a bench, while he played. It was an okay arrangement for him. But he missed time with his mother.

That day it was a free day for his mother, without her post-school coaching class and he was expecting her to be waiting at the bus stop with the kite. Seeing his grandfather instead, his face fell.

“Anita had to substitute for someone at her coaching class. She asked me to pick you up.”

Phinn did not react and without looking at him he took his grandfather’s proffered hands and they walked towards his home.

Phinn was quiet, not his regular animated self, who would otherwise be filling his grandfather’s ears with the tales of the day.

Anita’s dad Thomas was a man who never wore his heart on his sleeve. His words were measured but his actions spoke louder than words. After the death of Anita’s mother, it was Phinn who gave him renewed hope in life. He was the happiest when Anita decided to rent a house near his. Even though he would have loved to have them stay with him, Anita was a free spirit. Also, she hadn’t got over the fact that the marriage which her father vehemently opposed had failed. They were accustomed to minimal conversations and Anita did not want the additional awkwardness of being two adults under the same roof who hardly spoke. If Phinn hadn’t noticed it yet, he would, soon.

Thomas let Phinn indulge in his thoughts during the short walk home. He waited patiently while Phinn had his sandwich, wanting to know what had clammed the little boy up.

“Is everything alright, baby? Do you want more sandwiches? “he asked.

“Mom was supposed to buy me a kite, Grandy. Now she will be very late and I won’t be able to take it to school tomorrow. I will be the only one who won’t be joining the kite flying at school.” said Phinn, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Is that all? Now, you come with me and help me bring that box down from the storage. Grandy is too old to climb on a stool”

Phinn did as his grandfather asked. The cardboard box was light.

“What is in it, Grandy? Phinn couldn’t contain his curiosity.

Without answering, Thomas carefully removed the sealing tape and took out a worn-out kite from the box. It had red, blue, green, and yellow paper strips pasted together vertically in an artistic design. The colors had faded. It looked like a keepsake with a story, which would probably crumble in childish hands.

“Wow Grandy, where did that come from?” But will it fly? It is looking very old.”

“Your mother made it, “said Thomas

“Momma!!! Really! She never told me that story!!!”

“Well, actually she had a little help from me”

“Will you help me make one too Grandy, please? “Phinn said, focusing all his hope in his words.

“We don’t have colored paper. But definitely, we can make one with a newspaper. We would be upcycling newspaper then. Your teacher would be happy about that.” said Thomas.

“You don’t need YouTube video, Grandy?”

Thomas smiled and without replying, assembled all materials.

He guided Phinn in cutting papers with proper measurements. Thomas removed two stalks from his coconut palm broom and modified them into supports for the kite.

Anita walked in on the pair, busy giving finishing touches to their kite.

“Phinn, so who will fly this then?’ asked Anita approaching the pair, showing the kite which she bought.

“Momma, you came and did not forget the kite!! ” Phinn rushed into her arms and hugged her.

That is when she saw the worn out sample kite on the dining table, among the newspaper cuttings.

“Oh, Daddy, You kept it!! ” She tenderly took the kite and looked at her conservative father who always kept her at an arm’s length.

“You were in grade 8, then. You wanted to win the bet against your friend. You spilled glue on the first one we made, got angry, and tore it to pieces. This was the one that we made again.”

Father and daughter looked at each other, the memories enfolding them like an armless embrace. No words were spoken between them, but they had mastered the language of silence that was reverberating with all the unspoken words that only father and daughter could hear.

“There is still time to try out whose kite is better, the one you made, or the one I bought. Grab the kites; let us go to the park. It’s quite windy today.” said Anita.

“But I am taking my kite to school. It is up-cycled and better than yours,” said Phinn making his position clear.

The three of them walked towards the park with kites, father and daughter in their companionable silence while Phinn chirped about how to make a kite with newspaper.

Sounds of Silence

Does it? Does silence have all the answers?

When you seek answers for all those questions needing closure, delving deep within your own silence, you may hear your soul whispering them to you .

But there is a silence which can be deafening. Silence from a person who traps up all the answers you want, in a black hole.

You can interpret that silence in many ways , seeking answers in words that are not spoken.

May be those answers are the ones you do not want to hear.

Hence they are banished by the silence to a place where all the other unspoken word are incarcerated.

Or that silence can be a malevolent miasma that is meant to inflict your spirit.

Or a quake that creates a chasm between bodies and souls.

Or just that there is nothing left to say .

That is when you hear the sounds of silence.

Puppet with a broken string..

Letting go isn’t easy.

Especially when it means watching your kid spreading out his wings and taking flight to a distant place.

A place so far away that you have to consider the time zones to call him on face time.

Even though you know that his wings are strong enough and this letting go is inevitable…

I am not ready.. ….Even after all the six months of preparation.

I realize that I am malfunctioning.

I feel like a puppet with a broken string .

My home feels empty and I do not know how to fill the vacuity. The exchanges happening among us at home are largely robotic or stale .

I miss HIM ..THE BOY …and everything about him.

When it comes to showing emotions, he has taken after my Dad. He is restrained, which often borders between impassive and distant .The only living being on whom he showers his boundless fondness is towards our dog , Copper .

For us, the remaining humans at home, it is mostly smiles or a hug on the odd occasion. His response to “I love You ” or “Miss You” is a grunt or “hmm” or something like .””v you too”‘ with the first three alphabets compressed to a “v” sound.

I let him get away with it , because I know that being aloof on the outside is how we conceal the pain . The outward cool is just a way to hide the raging waves of agony from wrecking havoc on his composure .

I miss him…

He turns Switzerland when I argue with his father .. Running away with his ” I am outta here ” dialogue .

But comes back to chuckle when I win, even though he is a father’s boy through and through.

The cords which bind him to me are unique and telepathic. He reads me inside out .

To hide things from him I need to think like someone else because he knows the intricacies of my thought process just like the way I know his.

He makes me the coolest in my generation through the tidbits I pick up from the conversations we have.

In his absence, I realize that he was my backbone, my support system, the reason behind my culinary festivities , the point for my perfect smile…

I feel like part of a family which was skewed from square to an equilateral triangle.

I am being ungrateful and unfair in a way. Because I am still held grounded by an unassailable cord of devotion . The one who worships me on a pedestal and proudly declares his status as a Momma’s boy .

I will be healed by this little angel by my side , the child of my heart …This I know.

As of now I am letting go the child of my head and reason .