To a young mother

Everytime I see you with your baby, I am wonderstuck by how good you are at this mother thing. I watch as you wrap your daily schedule around him – as you scramble to finish your chores and get some rest in the brief intervals that he is asleep. As you hearken to his every cry, and sooth his every hurt, real or pretend. As you unfailingly sing him to sleep every night, no matter how long that takes. As you spin story after story in order to get him to eat. As you watch ‘how-to-draw-cats-and-dogs’ shows so that you can teach him to draw. As you go the Czechoslovakia way and try to teach him equations and multiplication tables 🙂 As you point out innumerable autos to him and look as excited about it as he really is. As you smile for him unceasingly. As you instinctively, and deliberately too, devote your energy and love to him.
You make me realize that motherhood is worthy of every poem written about it.


Depressing poem no.1

It’s strange how oppressive
Even open spaces can be
How the walls can close in,
With never a wall to see

Every step I take in the cold night air
Feels like a push against solid rock
Everywhere I turn, every nook I seek,
Tells the same story and seems to mock.

Every strain of music seeps into a mind
That listens without yearning,
The surge and fall in the most haunting tune,
Unheard in a numbness deafening.

Every joy muted, every tint faded,
A dismal fog colors it all,
Through sprightly spring and crisp summer,
My eyes see a melancholic fall.