To say that she came into me,
from another world, is not true.
Nothing comes into the universe
and nothing leaves it.
My mother—I mean my daughter did not
enter me. She began to exist
inside me—she appeared within me.
And my mother did not enter me.
When she lay down, to pray, on me,
she was always ferociously courteous,
fastidious with Puritan fastidiousness,
but the barrier of my skin failed, the barrier of my
body fell, the barrier of my spirit.
She aroused and magnetized my skin, I wanted
ardently to please her, I would say to her
what she wanted to hear, as if I were hers.
I served her willingly, and then
became very much like her, fiercely
out for myself.
When my daughter was in me, I felt I had
a soul in me. But it was born with her.
But when she cried, one night, such pure crying,
I said I will take care of you, I will
put you first. I will not ever
have a daughter the way she had me,
I will not ever swim in you
the way my mother swam in me and I
felt myself swum in. I will never know anyone
again the way I knew my mother,
the gates of the human fallen.
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Comments about this poem (The Borders by Sharon Olds )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(18 September 1906 - 18 September 1995)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
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