Nineteen Eighty Four. Poem by Lekha Chakraborty

Nineteen Eighty Four.
The classroom door.

A stranger.
Asking for me.

His identity.
the teacher asked for.
A lightning in me.
She asked me to go with him.

A noisy classroom.
My primary school.

The teacher who taught
The language.
Failed to control girls' shrills.

The side bench.
Near the blackboard.
Our upcoming world.

A girl sat there, fathomed
early shrills of my silence.
She said,
'I will come with you.'

Still surfs.
My right hand she took.
She made me walk.

The stranger looked at me.
Long hair.
A sad face.
That three year old little girl,
All grown up.

The stranger touched me.
He felt a rock.
A pink frock, unpacked.
He gave me.

A blue cab.
Parked, near school ground.
One little boy in red.
Or two little boys in red.?
A veiled face too.
Little do I remember.
But that was his entire world.

His voice.
Firm and kind.
' I am leaving, for Arabia'.

Still life.
Never knew where he been.
He clicked my stillness.
The blue cab left.

Gone, the reel is rolled back.
His first feel of life was me.
His daughter.

Felt forsaken, never again.