The Puddle Chokes Poem by Pankajam Kottarath

Elders scoffing at me
for no fault of mine
I sat ashore, embracing loneliness
in an effort to breath light
by the shallow puddle
near my ancestral house
that had inspired me in the past
with its silent gestures.
Stones I threw in still waters,
made inflections beyond envision,
making it off beam.

The moon was broken,
wind scattered it apart,
water plants cradling softly
swayed vigorously
silt from the bottom
popped up to the top
and the puddle choked.

After sometime I found
it snapped out of the wild mood swings,
on its own, unaided by anything, when
the moon was pieced together
silt sunk to the bottom
plants became calm
with no sign of any mania
and I saw my weary face
laminated on its surface.
Perhaps the word ‘depression’
did not exist in its unfamiliar tongue.

I was awestruck
the puddle was capable of
what probably men could not,
and felt a bit culpable
having conspired
to wash out my grief
in the soft puddle
of the breathing waves.

Conscience charged
Did I belong there? Did I have the right
to pass on my grief to someone?
The answer lay in a horizontal nod.