Grandfathers house.

by Harry

Posted for Rinzu Rajan

My grandfather’s house
bears witness to the river’s anklets
drunk by its song
she entices paddy fields and dusty dribble
an enchantress who doesn’t age and never stoops
unallured by the coughing of an old red bus
red flags are raised
for a plate of food and rusted brass
for every lump in the throat chokes and digs
a grave for another old woman,
oil soaks a school girl’s hair
her red ribbons braided so tight
that she pays salutation
to everyone she meets on the road.


The man hunched on the milestone
is her uncle who measures
the length of her skirt
a few meters away the church bells ring
and earthen lamps light a prayer for a son
daughters don’t get burial in this land
where they are a liability.
As I pass by, tasting another acrimony,
I hope to never come back to this land
where the soil is still orange
leeched by parasites so petrified.

One Comment to “Grandfathers house.”

  1. This is structured in the most beautiful ways! The sound that’s common sense is Like Robert Frost!

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