On her frail shoulders, the threads of Pashmina talk. Of a valley, of heaven, of a moonlit night. Demure, she froze amidst the discordant noise, Charred bodies around her, her flesh and blood died. On moonlit nights, hence she walks barefoot on the snow, Suffering within and out, I can listen, what her silence speaks out loud. Deranged, Demented, She drags her body around, Unaware, Listless, what she has lost can never be found. I call her, whenever she passes by me, I have been piling up sorrows as debris. Come! My child Let me hear your pain, Let me soothe your wounds, Let me jostle your soul, So you shed a tear. I know your pain, I have done all this myself, And I have been there. This poem narrates the sufferings of women who lost their families in Kashmir Valley. *Disclaimer - Title is inspired by Sonnet 30 of Shakespeare.
Their numbers are increasing. But yes, single parents have a tougher job considering they have dual roles to play. Good one, Saru! As always!
ReplyDeleteVery tough. And I respect them for it.
DeleteParenting is a challenging job; having to do it alone is so very sad.
ReplyDeleteTrue that!
DeleteVery True
ReplyDeleteSaru this is so beautiful. In just a few words you say so much. Love it. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Seena.
DeleteTrue...
ReplyDeleteBeing a single parent, I know, what it takes to be one :)
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, like always.
Respect!
DeleteAnd, I am sorry link to your blog is infected. Please check, so I can read your work.
Few words expressing so much, Nice one
ReplyDeleteThanks Upasna.
DeleteVery touching. Everything you write is so poetic yet so potent.
ReplyDeleteThanks Raj!
Delete