Gently Plays the Flute!
His flute catches the sleeve of the wind
He shuts his eyes
Willing Raga Megh to drench his daughter’s cries.
His daughter, Shabnam, all of sixteen
Married to Sadar, the village money-lender,
Under a cheap zari-spangled tent
A month before his land would have been re-possessed;
While Sadar’s first wife, Seema, fed the guests
As sullen as the desert
And as barren.
His son-in-law
A grey-streaked pig;
He clamps the shutters
Of his eyes tighter.
In a streak of sado-masochism
He suspends his fingers mid-air
Poised to thrust them in his ears
At the next feminine squeak.
Wait… what’s this…?
The cry is a grunt
Or has he heard it right?
He watches his son-in-law
Unspooling at the verandah
In a porcine heap;
A tattered translation
Of his strutting self;
The two women’s curses shaking the heavens
And their slippers beating to a rare taal…
He places the flute
To his lips
Once again,
The wind makes the music sweeter…
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Wonderful read Indrani
Thanks Irene.
Thanks so much Deepika. And a big ‘hello’ to you as well, I don’t believe we’ve met before have we?
Your poem is an outcry of your heart. Only a beautiful and sensitive heart can think up so deeply.
what a lovely poem! So much depth and pathos. I was really moved, Indrani
Thanks a lot, Vimala. I don’ty believe we have interatcted before, have we?
I don’t know, but I was on 4IW also since April last year and sent several blogs to them.
I realize that now. I think I was confusing with aother Vimla, another lovely person who used to write on 4IW.
Melancholic!
Melancholic, I know. But it ends with some hope.
Yes, Sure.
Thats so nice of you, Shail!
Dear Indra,
You are filled with such intensity that it just flows, nay pours into your poem. What an ordinary line in prose could not have done, your poetry has expressed.
Nice!
An intense poem, Indrani. Music indeed makes everything seem insignificant.
Thanks Vimla!
You have depicted the state of the poor families (girls) in villages . Its an achievement expressing it in verse. Very well written.
Thanks for the comment, Sonal. This was inspired by Hosseini’s novel, A Thousand Different Suns. I am sure you’ve read it. I used to wish the victims would beat their perpetrator.
Thnaks Shernaz!
A tattered translation
Of his strutting self;
I liked that line a lot. A well expressed poem portraying different emotions of the different characters in tightly controlled words. Thanks for sharing this, Indrani.
Thanks Beniyaaz! 🙂 Thanks for being the first to comment.
Mistress of musical words. Lovely.