My Grandpa

One night, before the gasping began-
I was told later-
He asked for me.
I was not a pet,
Not a granddaughter he’d pray for,
Not an obedient homemaker,
Not a mother of a bunch of boys.
Hence I ignored the calls
Blaming the lies they may contain
I threw them in air
Like unwanted time- killers .
Now, days gone , a little away
From the umbrella -shaped stone
Among the knee-length green grass ,
I assume his body fighting with worms and termites.
I feel the calls might be true,
I might’ve been asked,
I might’ve been in his prayers,
A pinch of blessing
Might’ve been saved for me.
I drop a tear on the grass
For the last act of my disobedience .

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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......

6 thoughts on “My Grandpa

  1. Sarala Ramkamal

    the last line worked well … and many can relate to this … you are blessed as the realization happened only to ensure the link is strong … be blessed always.

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