Ripped

Rimli

Get well soon, the apple of my eyes! Love–Mamma.

I bite my lips and the salty waters drain down
a labyrinth of pain.
Even if it did hurt from the moment
You were formed,
I embraced its melodies in a wellspring of love,
Wanting the pain glowing
In my body and spirit,
And then it hid away in
Unsung nooks and crevices
In absorbed moments, when
your little hands and feet
Imprinted themselves on me.
I didn’t know when your incessant splash of words and your hushed sleep became my lullaby.
The river crawled back,
Twitching haphazard my indolent face.
Each night, I wrap you up
Your tender mouth and face,
Give you the softest, warmest blanketed sleep,
Each new day, you slip from the tinkle bell of my womb’s sheltered dark.
The day unwraps you in splinters, tainted brown flesh.
I know the river will now pull you downstream.
There waits your world in light, wind, mayhem and danger.
Note: I wrote this little poem today for my younger daughter Sharanya (Rimli) in a bewildered mental state after she met with her first accident in her school and had a big cut in her lower chin. The doctor stitched the area today and she is at home now, taking some rest in her bed.

The Stillborn

In a crumpled bed of blood and free-flowing love
My child is borne. Let me hold him close,
Let me behold him in his fairy-winged sleep,
Let me bathe him with my milk and unshed tears
That had awaited his first cry, sprouting open,
Unfurling the soft petals of his sleep.

His tiny fingers folded, resolute,
His curled up limbs, his body like a sonnet
Unfolding before eternity, do let me
Hold him close until his cry merges
In whirlwind, in spirals, in harmony
With my never-ending lullaby.

What is this tingling wave
Of pain in the folds of my muscles?
This soreness, swelling of my nerves,
My bones crackle, the monitor and the machinery
The bubbles of conspiracy lull me to sleep.
I won’t succumb to the call of sleep till I hold
My crying baby, till I don’t feed him,
Look into the verse, the melody of his face
The valley of my body gleaming with
The first ray of my newborn’s smile.

I am not a part of this vicious silence, this numbness around.
The room stinks with your hushed conversations,
Your measured intrusions and the smell of sedation.
Whose demon hands plunged into the room
And plucked my cherub?
Can’t you see my body bursting open in pain
And surrender, to see him cry?
To settle him in the soiree of my bosom?

The silence of the room, numinous, resounding,
Calls you, my baby. I hum, in voiceless notes,
Your unsung lullabies.

Footnotes: My humble dedication to the mothers in all parts of the world who have lost their little angels during childbirth. This poem is written in the voice of a delusional woman who believes her stillborn child is alive. All my sincere thanks to The Woman Inc Poetry Project for this writing prompt and for all your wonderful poems in response to it.

Lullabies and Birth Pangs: Journey of the Womb

 

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This piece happens to be the first full-length personal essay/narrative that I had written, in the form of a diary or journal entry during my first pregnancy. Today, five years after my elder daughter Srobona (Mithi) is there in our lives, I continue to revel in the countless joys, glories, the small milestones of victory and failure of our lives together, holding on to this precious bond called ‘Motherhood’.

This piece marks the beginning of my journey as a mother, and is also the stepping stone to other longer/shorter personal narratives in which I have celebrated this journey marked with awe, admiration and self-exploration. This piece is my humble tribute to God’s amazing gift—motherhood. 

It is my pleasure to include this personal essay in my recently completed memoir, where it resides along with other long-form, mid-range and short narrative nonfiction pieces in the section/volume ‘On Being A Mother’. 

It is also a pleasure to share this personal journey of mine recently published at B’Khush.com. To read the full essay, please go to:

http://www.bkhush.com/dev/content/scattered-pearls-journey-womb