Part 1
She has run away again,
This time leaving behind a message.
That says it all.
We are at fault
for all her inadequacies,
her unwellness,
and
for her failings.
For those multiple excuses
When she did not wish to attend school
or family gatherings.
It was always a stomach ache
or unbearable‘ brain pain’.
Migranes is what she called them.
Utter nonsense.
Back at school
Teachers complained.
Said she was lazy
And lied without guilt.
Part 2
Mother, I could do that
with such panache and ease.
I gave my lies names.
White lies
Grey ones
And there were the black ones
Which couldn't be penetrated into.
The starkness with which I gave explanations
about why I bunked classees
Or beat up the boys
made the authorities
take up stern stances
towards my lack of civility.
You see, my dear folks I learnt all these from you.
I was a child, all of five.
Naive and quite innocent.
Took your word for all that you made up.
Papa isn't well
So he fell.
Or the blue black marks
On your face and your arms
Were cause of your lack of grace and charm.
Wonder what harm I would I have come to
If you explained a bit with truth laced in.
As I grew
I learnt to hide and watch .
From behind billowing drapes
Or through the keyholes.
You always protected him.
Him , his lies and his drinking.
And he,
He did the same.
He had colourful lies for you.
You got fat, he said
Cause you ate too much.
Then suddenly one week later
You lost all that around your middle.
I had been expecting 'good news'.
A sibling to spend my time away from you both.
Someone i could teach the correct values
Something you failed miserably with me.
I knew you were pregnant
And I was already nine.
You see folks!
As children also we know
What's good and bad.
What seems like plausible truth and what are outright lies.
They teach that in school.
I have stories from Bible to prove that.
Speaking of God.
You guys fake that too.
Always late for church
And lies, freshly baked
Along with muffins bought
To take along
To seek a pardon.
I saw it all
And it got too much.
Once I took a time off to be at the chair.
Told my untruths
With confidence
Knowing only to well that the priest could hear.
He told me
In his God like voice
To speak with my parents
And work it put.
You looked aghast.
Shouted at me.
It's a small community
And I told tales
About my family.
Shame on me.
I wondered
Why you did not feel ashamed in the first place or second!!?
Father turned magenta
And then I knew
I had to get away
Or think of another lie
To tell at school.
I always thought up stories
Imagining
If you had been different.
Different as in regular parents,
Where moms and dads
are a team
To get the best for their
Children and lives together
Ahead.
I am 18 now
An adult .
This time I have left for good.
No, I haven't run away
Like I did before.
This time I will speak
And tell you more.
Mother the first time I ran
It was out of contempt
And I was just eight.
You were busy
Serving vodka and pretty full of it yourself.
Your cousin was constantly touching me and feeling me up.
Mother, my miss at school had taught me
Good touch and bad.
What Uncle Ronny was doing
Was very bad.
I had to get away.
I hid first but somehow
The creep always found me.
Laughing and saying peek a boo.
I looked for father
But he was busy with the maid.
I ran away.
It took you a complete day to realise
I was missing.
Mother Shame!
Why did you even have me
If you did not care?
While you are reading my letter
Let me share another secret.
One that I have omitted to mention before.
Grandpa told me
He had collected money for me
So I can go to college.
I had to promise
I would work hard
And not turn out like you.
He set an account and shared the details.
Said it was to be my inheritance along with the pouch of jewels
He kept in his long forgotten boots.
I am on a train heading out into my future.
I do pray
I leave behind all the memories
Of neglect and cruelty.
No You did not beat me
But you locked me up
While he and you made loud noises in your room.
When little I thought
He was thrashing you.
Later I knew better
When I peeped and saw.
Oh Mother how could you be
Like this to me?
How?
I was your only child!
So many memories I have in me
I worry they might burn holes
So I left.
Leaving behind
All that was ugly and wile.
Ps.
Despite it all
I love you Mom
Stay safe and warm.
I left my blankie for you.
Alpana Issar
I do believe we can get through this thing called life smoothly if we reach out to each other earnestly . There is enough for all if we share. An artist by profession and have been a teacher by vocation. Life has been beautiful with all the challenges thrown at us . We just grow stronger.
I am a painter, photographer and an outreach activist. Presently living in Vishakapatnam on the eastern coast of India. I am grateful for the way of life which has given me many fine opportunities to hone and develop my skills as a person with many interests. I have also been very fortunate to travel through India and abroad, learn about different cultures and learn a foreign language while living in Chile Published poetry in two Anthologies by Roopali Gaur Sircar &Anita Nahal.
Diverse voices -In all the spaces And Earth fire water wind .
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