Posted on by Sonia Dogra

I Write

so I may not forget the tiny balcony

in my ancestral home where Baba

crouched on his haunches and smoked

in the afternoons of live cricket matches

that played on his green transistor

more than thirty years ago.

On most days that memory is enough,

even though the tobacco on the tendu leaf

turned his lungs to coal, and they said,

gone too soon. Another five, he would be

ninety. That’s as long as Amma lived

in silence, an eye turned to stone,

forgetting—milks on stoves, her children, me.

What’s the point, I say.

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35 Replies to “I Write”

  6. Hi,

    I believe watching our loved ones ease slowly away from us through any kind sickness or disease makes us wonder why. We know we are losing connection with them, and that’s why it is so important to appreciate them while they are healthy.

    Shalom shalom

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