A Folk Song
I was once your birthplace, your maternal village.
You grew as they fed my trees in this leafing village.
You built me a temple and invoked my blessing
Did you know I’d bring rain, me, your sleeping village?
The rain filled your stomach, you rose with the water,
poured into my empty nest, your weeping village.
When the floods came, you sang me songs and dried my tears
but my rivers wouldn’t nourish you seeping through this village.
You let go of my hand and cursed my love for you
chose a new mother instead of me, your heaving village.
Summer’s ripe with memories of you, my children
But don’t come back to me, to your seething village.
Anupama Raju is a freelance writer based in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.
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