Let us go for a walk, my friend.
In a forest, a park, a street, many streets.
Let us take turns we haven’t before.
Let us sit down on a bench
and talk a little or a lot,
or say nothing at all.
Let us walk for hours,
and wear out our soles.
— Simi K. Rao.
And then I want to walk down this path
That goes on and on
From my town to the next
Across cities and states
Oceans and seas
I want to see faces different from mine
Speak languages I haven’t heard
I want to feel
I want to know
I want to get out
I want to meet people
I want to talk
Employ my voice
Then the moment passes
Our bond transcends Time, Worlds and Space.
Our relationship doesn’t need a ceremony, or an oath, or witnesses, or a piece of paper.
It doesn’t need a special day, a reminder, or a note on the calendar.
It doesn’t need talk, work, gifts and or constant reassurances.
It is there when I need it, and I know it’ll always be there.
I can count on it at any time, I can make demands of it.
I can ask you to lay down everything else for me and you will
I will always be your daughter and you will always be my mother.
Thank you, Mom!
If you could only see
You will find it
Like the strings of a piano
It floats in the air
Like the thoughts in your head
Like the wrinkles on your skin
A cup of Tea
is a fuzzy warm morning
flicking aside the blanket of night
It is a lazy afternoon
a let’s sit down
and chat for a while
It is a moment
booked just for me
to waste as I please
sit by the window
look at nothing
or hitchhike on a plume of steam
A sample from my upcoming book of poems and short stories Under the Shade of the Banyan Tree. Out soon!
Along ancient streets
alien sounds ebb and flow
With familiar inflections
passions don’t simmer
on drab countenances
The air vibrates with soul
Inspired by the ancient streets of Cordoba, Toledo, Seville, Granada, in Spain. Walk on! More poems in my soon to be released book ‘Under the Shade of the Banyan Tree’.
I lie on the bed
They sit around me
These strangers with familiar voices
In the white room
I think we are waiting for something
These strangers, they look at me
They mutter words I don’t understand
A man wearing a white coat walks in
He stands next to my bed
He speaks not to me
But to these strangers
They are talking about me I know
But what I don’t understand
Irritated, I kick off the covers
Mother! They chide me and pull them back
About the poem: This is a poem about dementia, the hallmark of the disease being loss of memory. I write about a scene I came across during my rounds in the hospital–an elderly lady in the advanced stages of dementia is lying on the bed surrounded by her caring relatives.
About the image: These are a series of self portraits that William Utermohlen, an American artist embarked on after learning he had Alzheimer’s disease.