Memories
are books in a shelf,
I pick
titles and then they turn pages;
home,
where you lived as a kid
never
seizes to be a favourite title
with
pages as many as stars,
Saturday
nights came as chocolates,
Sunday mornings as bread, butter, egg and milk
when
sleeping a bit more was fun,
when
ache never was attached with heart
but
wounds, lost toys and silly matters
when
butterflies, shiny pebbles, broken china vase
were
precious;
memories
get hurt, even existence, when you learn
that
beyond a made-up boundary
many dreams that weren't even
old
enough to taste memories were crushed;
their
Sunday bread and butter will remain unserved
as
bleeding sour wounds bearing relentless curse;
aches,
all hearts ache,
those
who crushed,
I hope,
have never been attached
with
bread-and-butter Sundays…
There's also an ache such words and topics evoke in us...I felt it tuging at my heart strings with each line of yours.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Shreeja!
Building up from personal to collective memory - very powerful and well-balance piece of work!
ReplyDeleteI fear the monsters were also little children once creating memories, but they must have forgotten. Iti s too much to fit onto shelves, too much. Wonderful poem! (Do you mean "to taste memories w.e.r.e. crushed"?)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much.....yes it is 'were'....I corrected it.......
DeleteSo sad when children never will grow up with those fond memories of sunday bread.. A lovely concept really.
ReplyDeleteit is sad when we forget... brought to mind a scene from the movie ratatouille where the stiff and mean guy suddenly finds that way back to his childhood memories again through a simple dish..
ReplyDeleteugh, painful memories... Indeed, I hope those aren't attached to a peaceful bread and butter sunday... sadly for some, it is..
ReplyDeletenice...a fresh turn on the bread...life was so much simpler then, wasnt it...our problems seemed just as big in the moment but...i would rather sleep in...and have some bread n butter sundays
ReplyDeleteWith the recent events of the killing of those children, I feel so sad that they can't wake up to a simple bread and butter Sundays ~
ReplyDeleteThanks for linking up Sreeja ~ Have a lovely week ~
Memories are books in a shelf,
ReplyDeleteI pick titles and then they turn pages;
home, where you lived as a kid
never seizes to be a favourite title
Perfect opening Sreeja! There can never be a better beginning to get ideas moving but home. Home is where the heart is and it is certainly an inspiration!
Hank
This was such a moving piece Sreeja! Poignant, and some of your lines really stayed with me - especially the closing.
ReplyDeletePrajakta
A Poignant tale .... very beautifully illustrated.
ReplyDelete