Poems by Dr. Santosh Bakaya
THE FURY OF A SCORCHING SUN
At the crack of every dawn, she sits in her rocking chair,
near the gate of her sprawling lawn
reminiscing about her sylvan world; Lost and gone.
Across her rambling house, a brook babbles on.
Yes, a house built up of memories,
[yeah, lots of them]
Eyes riveted on the waves which shimmer
and glimmer in the rays of the rising sun.
She misses her son, now rising in a foreign land;
covered in gold.
Many, many years ago,
he splashed merrily in the brook.
Her son, ah, her son!
The fun she had with her son
under the beaming sun.
Why does she feel undone?
Will he, won’t he?
She questions the bumble bee.
She hears faltering steps behind her.
Ah, it is her arthritic husband waddling
from inside the house, hiding his grouse close;
Very close to his pacemaker.
[Yes, his son had paid for it, ah, love by default!]
“Ah there, you are”, she says, beaming.
“Come inside, and yes stop dreaming”.
Says he, pulling her up from the rocking chair.
Hand in gnarled hand, hobbles the sad, old pair.
The easterly sun is hot, it is burning
scorching her insides with yearning.
They walk on towards the cobbled path
leading to their house, ears pricked
to the sounds of juvenile mirth and chuckles,
the pouts, tantrums and friendly brawls
still trapped inside the four walls.
And life hobbles on, leaning on crutches.
With poverty bedeviled
the tiny girl looked grimy and disheveled.
From my balcony, I watched her with keen eyes.
She looked around, with mute sighs.
Then her eyes brightened, seeing something;
in a copse, a peacock quietly dancing.
Lo and behold! She threw back her unwashed hair
in untrammeled ecstasy, free from worldly care.
Matching step with step, she went round and round
with the vigour of an energetic jive
the frail figure was fully alive.
Tiny steps tapping …tapping away.
This way and that, merrily swaying away.
Morphing into the first ray of the morning sun
the thrill of a songster trilling away,
warming cold hearts on a chilly day.
Her small body pirouetted and spun
stunning me with her elegance, her awe- inspiring performance.
Diving and floating in sheer exultation
A throb of jubilation; a heartbeat of elation.
From her face soon fell the grime
now she was an exquisite rhyme.
The lackluster garden suddenly was a riot of green
a peacock and a sprite dancing in a copse unseen
such chorographic synchronicity never had I seen.
Unadulterated freedom erasing the evil and obscene.
Sheathing the surroundings in a joy, ah, so serene.