Kunjumon
Sprawled near the shop door
dangling coir, bright plastics, baskets
flimsy balloon balls, flower pots
and you-
a fallen statue reeking of neglect
Irritating to bustling feet
but they stepped over your motionless form
and left the air fouler
with curses that you inhaled
You were the underworld
without the beard, gun or pot belly
ribs painfully embossed
upon your sallow youth
We fattened up our kids
using your nightmare shamelessly
Mariamma
the luckiest woman of all
three hefty sons she had
A thief, a madman and a drunk but no girls
so wasn’t she blessed!
Septic tanks and cow urine tanks called you
armed with a bottle of the cheapest toddy
you swung down holes
where no devil dared to breathe
scooping up discarded human bits
Our girls under your protective stagger
safe as they quickened their steps
from the lonely bus stop to the
lamp-lit shadows of motherly forms
none would look at their budding youth
while you thrashed out your lungs
and limbs at the road romeos
Kunjumon, you fell out of life suddenly
just like you did everyday
but among the fallen
you still stand tall
©Reena Prasad
Reblogged this on tot123itsme.
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I truly like this poem. It is full of very clear image and insight and feels very real.
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Thank you. It hit me close to home perhaps that is why .
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How many unsung heroes such as Kunjumon must be traversing this planet, in the guise of the fallen and the crass. It is so touchingly written Reena. Yes, we stumble over their bodies , uncaring, not even registering they are there.
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Too many. Thank you Nadira. I kept his original name.. he was a real person and deserved at least a poem.
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