My grandmother’s last days

My grandmother, in her last days,
Set out to the edge of the paddy field
With a broken wooden chair from the attic,
Along with her half eaten memories.
There at the edge of the paddy field,
She watched her childhood and teenage
Running around, without impedance and loads.
Then one day, when the monsoon broke out
She ran to the field, half naked
Leaving behind her head scarf
Hopping and bouncing, in and out
She could not be brought back
She could not be explained
For she never knew, she had a wide gap
In her half eaten memories
Where the world around her had changed
From the much benevolent one
To a much malignant one.

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About Fathima Manal

Dreams,fantasies,words and rhythm-other than skin,bones and muscles I am made up of these.With every drop of blood that my heart pumps,a new dream forms in me.With every breathe,i take the surroundings too inside me.And my poems are just the minute regurgitants of what i accumulate within. I am a doctor from Kerala,India,who should not be supposed to but is in deeply love with words and books more than medical books.Hope you enjoy my poems......

4 thoughts on “My grandmother’s last days

  1. Amita Paul

    A compelling narrative with a mood of inexorable tragedy that rivets the individual experience to the universal fate.

  2. Pushmaotee Subrun

    Aww, such an empathetic approach to what befalls many human beings in old age…with half eaten memories and all beauty of life left behind to be replaced by ‘a malignant one’!


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