Dida

It’s being near to year I haven’t taken the path…why should I? For whom should I?

It’s being near to two years, you’re not here but still here…how can I deny you, how?

You had taught me to eat e’thing, to try e’thing, to leave not a scrape of foods on the dish…

You had taught me to be honest, to be gentle; let me be atheist though you were a–

believer….

You had imbued this habit of reading in me, to write–whatever comes to mind, you…

(No…am not crying…how can I…I’ve learned from you how to be calm in front of all…)

It’s being near to year I haven’t taken the path…why should I? For whom should I?

It’s being near to two years, you’re not here but still here…how can I deny you, how?

S’times these days when I close my eyes I dream the tile roof house…I dream the smoke–

hurling from the unoon…the boiled rice with smashed potatoes and dice of onions–

doesn’t taste like the one you used to serve me…even the soybean curry taste tasteless…

(Whenever I’ve these meals I miss you more than I can bear, more than one can bear)

It’s being near to year I haven’t taken the path…why should I? For whom should I?

It’s being near to two years, you’re not here but still here…how can I deny you, how?

I don’t take the path to your house a’more after she had left me last year…

after time leaves us…

I used to say her when I used to visit her house, you’ve chosen her so that I can return–

to Madhyamgram from time to time…(she haunts me when I thought of the days after–

you’re gone)

She had said once when she assured you, after promising she’s there to take–

care of…mine…you had responded…after four days…with a smile and blessing her

(two days later you left me for the ever)

those days were dark; you used to remain still…only…

only breathing and calling God names…waiting for the final call…I…

(No…am not crying…how can I…I’ve learned from you how to be calm in front of all…)

It’s being near to year I haven’t taken the path…why should I? For whom should I?

It’s being near to two years, you’re not here but still here…how can I deny you, how?

Dida, I miss you…I know if you were here then no one could have separated us…

I know my tiring days wouldn’t be so tiring…those eves, last few, I cherished when–

you used to roam the roof holding my hand…once…long ago…I used to walk like this…

Dida, wherever you’re, be happy because am happy…and forgive me for not being–

able to keep the promise of holding her back…forgive her for not keeping the promise…

#Madhyamgram is a neighborhood to Kolkata

#Dida is our, Bengali, calling name for Grandmother (Mother’s Mother)

#Unoon is oven made of mud and coal, dry leaves and woods are used as fuel

#Shorthand used–e’thing–Everything; s’times–Sometimes; a’more–Anymore

National Poem Write Month  Day #3: Elegy

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13 thoughts on “Dida

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