Home -The Old Mother Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

HOME IV

the old mother

I lit a cigarette and stand on an earth mount
it pleases as I look at women in the fields
with goats, sheep, cows and buffaloes
scattered and grazing
and I hear a few forced laughs.
In quick succession
they come close, talk and go hurriedly
with animals
urgency drives everyone and I see nothing.

Twisting lips, grimacing faces
and hesitant steps
scribble a few words of caution and homework
a burning chullaha, firewood, water pitchers
make life of a housewife dreary
but interesting,
and dull, painful and yet she laughs and laughs
and looks sadly at the trees and beyond the sky,
and silently prays for the men folk
to grow, rise and live
as she brooms, sweeps, cleans utensils, cooks food
and makes bed as she hums a joyous tune.
It makes life complete she was told years back
and I sit cross-legged beside ma
as she bakes a chapatti
in a chullaha and fills chillum while father
like a lord
sitting on bed waits for the ancestral hookah.