the point of being born
(to Surreal Circus)
Decipher, the chronicles of her dense secrets,
layered and knotted, like the string of attachment
which bastes her with her child, now born, looks like a pink
infantile field rat. It rests underneath a tree.
A full moon tree, now that it is night, curls its leaves.
She cannot understand how she can conjure alms,
helps or a mere hand to make her stand and move
towards the village hospital, where the doctor,
young and nervous, must be sleeping; as no one
believes they can live once they pays a visit
in that place. Still she knows death does not come often,
to one who seeks, the life is going to flourish,
she will live. A cluster of fireflies swarms.
In their pristine sounds one can hear chants,
“Mercy unto you, and peace, and love, be multiplied.”(Jude 1:2)
Senselessness prevails, for the time being. She sleeps.
The man of this story, still, is traveling
by a train, late than the schedule. Aware.
A kaleidoscope envisages vistas,
of a village, dark, cloudy, giving one more birth.
© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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Comments: 42
Sweet, if I ever have another one.... I'm attatching a long string to both of us so we won't get lost. After that cord is cut it gets hard to leave a room.
REally like this one you did great job
I have a feeling there is a lot more to this poem than I am understanding, even after a second read.
My favorite lines:
"Still she knows death does not come often,
to one who seeks, the life is going to flourish,
she will live. A cluster of fireflies swarms."
A lonely birth, husband is yet to return from his world, a village hospital which is not too near and not trusted... this birth is a difficult one, but there shall be peace.
Thanks.
the point of being born
Thank goodness for the peace that awaits.
So beautiful
very nice
Kushal, if your goal was to create "goose-bumps", then you've succeeded. My God, it was like someone walked across my grave. A very sensitive story.
-R.
brilliant
Wonderful poem, Poddar...
I'm glad this poem wasn't dark and bloody like "Mosquito." Maybe you should call it Afterbirth since it seems to be after the birth, or you could write one a dark and bloody one about afterbirth
Right, thanks.
You've told an entire story in this poem....a lovely one, too!
I felt the place and the mood. As Roger said, chilling. Well done, Kushal. Thank you for posting to our group.
Plight of poor retold in lyrical sublimity...well done, Kushal da!
--
Regards,
Ratan
STRANGE, begiling, as usual. A blend.
what is the secret of your prolific poetry writing itis yet anothe good poem
Extremely well done. Somehow you managed to convey the tremulous combination of fear and expectation and almost resignation in the whole situation of giving birth.
Interesting, and somewhat surreal.
tremulous~emotion drenched~
Thank you for posting to GutterGirls~
I agree with Roger B on the goosebumps. It is chilling how the reader becomes this nervous, exasperated father, so involved but with actually nothing to do - but wait.
Your imagery is on!
A chilling visit to a country in which hospitals kill people rather than heal them.
Thank you for posting this to The Surreal Circus. You are now featured.
Very vivid!
Too many still must have their children alone like that. Yet most prevail. It's amazing how resailiant people are.
You are a man of many fine sensibilities, which always are well reflected in your work....
Featured in the Triple Name Club
A vivid description of a spark of hope - a wonderful Poddar.
a beautiful piece!
Tense emotions...
Beautiful and intense
How sad for this woman to have to give birth alone without even the benefit of a quality hospital.
You have a way of telling another's story as if you have lived their life.
Very good!
you took me there,....... i felt the pain.....
Nice
this is so much more beautiful than one I heard when my daughter was having her baby. It was her father-in-law who said this: "well, it is just like having a bowel movement." It is not like that at all. Giving birth can probably be described in many different ways. As for me, I gave birth once. I was 19. The baby was not an accident, but was very much wanted, however, it was a very difficult birth. I remember looking out the window when the sun started coming up and thought how beautiful this April day was and here I am in here. I want out! I want out! is exactly how I felt and probably was also the thoughts of my baby girl. Bearing children is actually a curse to women and anyone who escapes it is probably "blessed." Of course, it was a sentence to us and must happen for generations to continue. When it is all over, it is true, a woman cannot recall the exact pain she experienced. It is quickly forgotten, and newborn babies are the best!
a lovely piece
thanks!
Beautiful!
Sad and hopeful. Beautiful.
This sounds like a trying kind of life but so much more rewarding.
Very nice poem.
Hello. I have not been here in a while but I see you continue to create and share poems that shows us the world through your eyes. Thanx!