Sorry for a Poem

Author: Sulagna Dutta


Do you know what does a mother giraffe does after her calf lands on earth? She kicks hard, the calf cries, she kicks again, the calf cries louder, and she kicks again, and the calf starts running on his four feet. Such a calf was Pragya. Pragya was a girl like all of us. Young dreamer, seldom reasonable, mostly fussy and rebellious whenever meeting with a no from parents. But dad had hope on her. When she failed to meet all the expected expectations, Dad blasted on Pragya. Dad broke the dreamer Pragya and made her cry. Dad asked her to leave home and go to hell.

Dad was always correct, Pragya thought. But what replaced in her heart was momentary hatred for Dad. Pragya went up to the Ganges and decided to take a dip, and drown herself. One step, two step down the stairs into the river Pragya looked at her reflections. She heard a patrolling helicopter. The soul inside ranted and craved to talk to Dad once. Before she meet her end, she pulled out her mobile, opened the watsapp, and she typed remembering her dad who was once a pilot.


Dad and the airplane,

Used to stay in the sky,

And the guns and the roses,

Made me run all passers by.

If you can call back my days,

Of oblivion and bliss,

I could set all alright,

And place a gentle kiss;

And tell you all my stories,

And love you even more,

To call a lot of heart and pieces,

And heal all your sore.

But dad, days are gone,

And distance apart,

And I call you wrong…

May be the time and tides we sail,

Have gotten all in throng.

I try conspiring, try forgiveness,

I try forever a dementia,

But all I get, are heavier thoughts,

And a train to Bolivia…

And meet a man, whose far less better,

Whose far less what I thought…

But it’s all dad, it’s ain’t you, whom I have now got .

I saw maids, I saw peasants, I saw the meadows green,

Even if your world was wreck, or of thunderstorm,

I could have been your queen.

Seldom I say, my demands, and disasters,

All I hide in smile, all I see you, feel you always,

And I m in love with those of your style.

Even I am bad, even I am worse, I am a murderer at last…

I tried burying, all that agonizing, moments of your past…

Now I see them, Phoenix as in… travelling along light years,

and few darker grieves of seldom aggrieved,

 are still flooding in my tears.

The questions keep ranting in,

All through my nerves,

If I can go back, and cut and tear,

Few of nouns and few verbs.

Why does the past and the future,

Doesn’t lie on the same plane?

Why does wishes, and prejudices,

Doesn’t wash in rain?

Why I can’t see the butterfly fly?

Why doesn’t the clouds fly by?

All I see the broken failures,

Yet I struggle and try…

Not to repeat, and to repair,

Whatever I have broken,

I collect them all, and recollect,

Pieces of those unforgotten…

Clearer sky, and the airplane,

Dad, you don’t reside there,

Those were mystery,

Brain’s chemistry,

Those were happier desire…

If you were still like that,

If I was how I were,

I would have loved you,

Far, more, than I care.

Bit less anguish, more of laughter,

Lot of happiness green.

I would always love to,

Be that, smaller,

darling lovely queen....

 

If dad was angry on Pragya don’t know. But she received an instant call from Dad,

“Dear Sorry come home…We can talk over our problems I got angry”…

It’s been a year, Pragya has grown friendly with dad. The neighbours have not heard shouts anymore. I don’t know how is dad doing. But Pragya has cracked UPSC, dad has been bragging about his daughter.

In a family, we often don’t assert love to each other as we take it for granted. We often judge parents and their scoldings. Emotions remain prejudiced between expectations and results, hurts and silence, perhaps A Sorry, or a poem can heal many of the broken relations which we have been struggling to fix for years. Like giraffe calf, keep crying, the mother giraffe will keep kicking, unless you start running.

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Write Club Team comprises of highly motivated writers and creative inhabitants, who aspire to make Hyderabad an empowering abode for fabulous writers.

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