Recreating Home
Almost human in their intuitiveness
The objects sensed we were leaving home
Going far away, the possibility of return, slim.
Determined not to be left behind
after sixteen years of gracing our lives
they snuggled themselves into suitcases
among the clothes and personal effects.
The green Kashmiri carpet,
the tall walnut lamp, the Indian dolls,
the samovar, the hookah,
the shawls, the small walnut lamps,
the photo albums shedding their covers
like snakes shedding their skins.
No missing out on this adventure.
Convinced they could enhance the
experience,
reduce the ache for the homeland, they
travelled.
Worth it to endure the cold in the hold of
the plane
Only the luggage restrictions could limit
home
or more objects might have made the
journey.
The Book of Children’s Bible stories
decided it was too heavy
Though it was worth its weight in gold.
The Beatles' song ‘She’s leaving Home,’
hums in my head.
Father’s words, “ Stay and do something
for your country.”
Three flights and countless miles later
Buying an unfamiliar brand of milk
from the convenience store across the park
The urge to make chai, the stamp of
every Indian
Sans chai one is never fully at home,
The owner wanted to know where we learned
English.
Then there was that object
That travelled unbeknownst to us
The door from a friend’s home
a separation of living room from dining
room
installed itself, picture perfect,
transforming magically
into our magnificent sunroom door
memories of friendship in the smell of its
wood,
A door can make you feel at home!
The only things we couldn’t bring
Were the mountains, the valley, the mists
the smell of the pines, the roar of the
panther,
the paths covered in soft seductive red
as the Rhododendron dropped their flowers
the chai shop at Jabarkhet on Tehri
Road
where a cup of tea for a small price
Included the splendour of the Himalayan
mountains
A glimpse of the plains of Dehra Dun
between.
(Published in Verse-Virtual)
Pájaros en la Calle
(Birds in the Street, in Spanish)
In the Land of Eternal Spring,
my granddaughter, not quite three yet
stands by the window in a hotel room
her hips swaying in a dance
left to right, left to right, round and
round.
Suddenly she calls to her father
‘Papi, Papi, pájaros en la calle.’
He rushes to the window
a bird swoops down from above
falls gracefully to the street below.
‘Pájaros en la calle’, she cries repeatedly,
pointing to the bird in motion.
The bird keeps swooping from sky to ground
Seems to put on a show just for her
It has caught her excitement.
In another city in another continent
I stand at the kitchen window
watching a bird with a long pointed beak
flaming red underside, singing sweetly
on the roof of the neighbour’s garage
that juts out onto my backyard.
I look up a book of Canadian birds
I discover it’s a red breasted Nuthatch.
I say to myself ‘ pájaros en la calle’
The little girl is a poet with perfect
imagery
A birdwatcher like her great-grandfather!
Someday I will read his poem “Poet, Lover,
Birdwatcher’ to her
She will understand the bond, I know.
I have yet to meet my granddaughter
My new home is where she is
where there are ‘ pájaros en la calle’
Where there is poetry, dance, and
mountains
Love of a pure and undistilled kind.
My imagination has bridged the continents
The birds in her country are different
From the birds here where I am
Their songs of love may sound different
There are ‘pájaros en la calle’
in
every land
Only one little girl
Leaves me yearning for that home
In the land of eternal spring.
(Published in Verse-Virtual)
Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca’s first book of poems, 'Family Sunday and other Poems', was published in 1989. Her poem ‘How to Light up a Poem', was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. ‘Light of The Sabbath’ is her recently published chapbook. She has taught English, French and Spanish, in private schools in India and overseas, for over four decades. Her poems have been published in several anthologies, including the Journal of Indian Literature published by The Sahitya Akademi, and the three issues of the Yearbooks of Indian Poetry in English. She holds a Master’s Degree in English and French from the University of Bombay, and a Master’s Degree in Education from Oxford Brookes University in Oxford, England. Kavita is the daughter of the late poet Nissim Ezekiel.
Wonerful poems, Kavita!
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