PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

the only trip years back

sitting next to late granny

for a cartoon movie



the splashing in the

basin, the warm water

for my bath, the lather

all over as

granny chatted in

soft heartfelt voices



in the sarong suspended

from a spring hooked onto

a timber, mom's youthful

young voice lulling me

to sleep

me sometimes struggling

in the limited space

wriggling like a worm

with the sarong tight

around me



the elvis-styled hair

mom combed it all up

to the back with thick hair cream

so swift her hands sometimes

it hurt the scalp



the only beating

for coming back in

the 30th position of the class

i ran as she came with her stick

it worked - the next term i got

back into the 10th position



granny with my clothes

walking the street

calling my name

to get me back from illness

a superstitious practice

to get my soul back to me

believed to have fallen

out when frightened by a friend

one night



these and plenty of them

replayed in my mind when granny

died and now as mom ages, the images

of her love become sharper,

a sharpness sharpened by the realisation

that time could not be

turned back and that soon

all would become mere illusions

that would only return now and then

to jolt me into a sea of tears

and pain







images