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Poem By Prathibha Nandakumar

To the earth or the skies,
To the waters or the land,
To the wind or to the long lasting feeling
of being pinned to the wall,
Where do I belong? To whom?

The unclaimed baggage defies the new porter.
May be it’s an explosive, may be
a forgotten-in-a-hurry pot of gold
sitting for his possession.
May be it belongs to the unsung hero of the
narrow by lanes where superior things get priority
like, for instance, deceitful beauties.
Does it belong to the port or the
platform, to the truck or the shaky shelf,
to the maker or the buyer?

Whoever has heard of the twilight belonging
to the day or night? Shore to the land or water?
They are in a perpetual no man’s land where
the middle aged go to feel and not look,
young look and don’t feel
and the old-forgotten have a field day
but come back hurt.

I belong to the waters that claim me with open arms,
drowning me into a blissful oblivion.
To the wind that takes all my senses and carry to
merge with the silent fragrance of the hanging Jasmine.
I belong to the worms that decompose my twice burnt body,
into a skeleton of bones and toes.
Nails stretch out of my fingers that reach out
to cuddle or strangle you.

In any case you never offered a hand.

You are not to be blamed
You belong to the elements
And you never despair.


Prathibha Nandakumar

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