A Family At War Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

I was born in a family at war.
No guns, no fighter bombers
No submarines or booby traps,
Only long wordless and awkward situations,
Silent and hurried breakfasts.
At the dinner table, it was a game of chess
One was always moving at the approach of another.
I watched.
I rued the cloistered evenings,
The telltale stories and the frozen smiles,
And the low whispers,
All wrapped up into a pinch of jealousy.
A cold war.
Where evening prayer
Was a competition:
Who could first attract God’s attention.
And they did!
They were all graduates and experts.
Overflowing with education.
High posts and expensive cars.
God they say, gives you
What you ask for.
But I was sure there was a missing link there,
Wasn’t there?