Migrations are always difficult:
ask any drought,
ask the year 1947.
Ask the chronicles themselves:
if there had been no migrations
would there have been enough
history to munch on?
Going back in time is also tough.
Ask anyone back-trekking to Sargodha
or Jhelum or Mianwali and they'll tell you.
New faces among old brick;
dripping from the lips of strangers.
This is still your house, Sir.
And if you meditate on time
that is no longer time -
(the past is frozen, it is stone,
that which doesn't move
and pulsate is not time) -
if you meditate on that scrap of time,
the mood turns pensive
like the monsoons
gathering in the skies
but not breaking.
Mother used to ask, don't you remember my mother?
You'd be in the kitchen all the time
and run with the fries she ladled out,
still sizzling on the plate.
Don't you remember her at all?
Mother's fallen face
would fall further
at my impassivity.
Now my dreams ask me
If I remember my mother
And I am not sure how I'll handle that.
Migrating across years is also difficult.
[From: The Map-maker]
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Migrations by Keki Daruwalla )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Coach journey home, Mark Heathcote
- Another Barn Burns (don't call 911) .., Monk E. Biz
- Confirmation, Yuliy Valenko
- The bee Haiku, Sambanath Denis
- The Slight And Sorry Words, Sambanath Denis
- On A Painting, Sambanath Denis
- The Day Your Mother Kept For You, mary douglas
- Leaving For Okinawa In The Morning, Kyle Schlicher
- Into Your Eyes, Spiritwind Wood
- What You Thought I Thought You Thought, Dexsta Ray