• malavikameh

A poem.

Updated: Jul 30

How to bring up a child in our country.

I am going to tell my children that rails are an ankle sock that you tried on your

left foot- it didn’t fit, so you immediately switched to the right and yet failed.

I am going to tell them that they hadn’t had a sock to embrace their braces-

but there were horseshoes, giant, those bruised the balls of their feet,

which were made of home, blood, food, and other things – The saddle often

broke open in the rains and drenched like betrayed horses of their own reins.

It broke the cartilage down their ankle – that joined locomotion like life to the

rest of their body- they are failed- that they were failed like it should have been

by the ones who managed to put carts and sacks for us to lug – simply like donkeys

they thought we were – We should keep in mind child, to call ourselves horses – Horses

failed like they should have been by these lads for its people – this fate to walk-miles

and I shall always speak to you about the people who are always forgotten.

The ones who fall with the rains, who, yet couldn’t wash away their blood on rails-

Dear baby, next time if someone talks to you about a good old Lord

who came here back then – and left things for us- things very precious –

you would hear it so often – things we wouldn’t have had on our own – You tell them this –

that you don’t care – that once your mother told you not to wake her up

if she dies on a track – between the rails. She told you – to back off, get up, get out of the rut

and run for life – Run for life and do not stroll simply – She told you to run

before the last train hits, you. They say there’s something about a man running for life,

you know he won’t go long, till he wakes up to kiss life on its face – If they tell you this,

do not forget to tell them that you were a horse, not a man, and you would wake up

to kiss sometimes if the train misses you, to keep the lord and laws, to keep if you can

and remember – this was all your mother knew, and she never cared much for her kids.

A poem, 2020. unedited.

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