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Sakina bibi:

Welcome to Chowk!

First a confession of sort. I haven`t seen you here before. That is why I was reluctant to even read a poem with no title. Well, maybe this is the hundreth poem you have written and all others have titles. How are we to know? Well, now that this is out of the way some reactions.

Enjoyed these lines:

--This is a dream on the edges of madness.
--Oily stains on clothes perfumed with rose and ginger.


When you say, ``This speaks of the Ones before me,`` why did you use Capital O? I hope this is just a typo.


And in this line ``who filled my infant cradle,`` perhaps infant is redundant?

The irony is obvious, there being no end, no beginning---- just a continuum

Good effort. Pls. keep writing,

regards

Sakina:

You`re welcome. And welcome to Chowk.

Thanks everyone!

Jonty:

Thank you for the poem. I really enjoyed it.

Soldotna:

To clear any confusion-- I am not BG or bad girl-- I am a new to Chowk.

Sakina

Well written and thought provoking.

Ras

lovely poem

Dear BG and/or Sakina and/or Bad Girl :);

Imagery was just breathtaking. More! More!

Regards,

Soldotna

Lovely poem, Sakina. I especially like the line ``The dried bundles of the past/

have been placed carefully/ between the folds and layers of myself.`` Ties the imagery and theme together beautifully. Sometimes it seems that every generation is born to make up for the sorrows and disappointments of the previous one, to realize its unfulfilled expectations and hopes. And so the past becomes the future.

Looking forward to more of your work :).

A very evocative piece, filled with wonderful, rich images. Reminds me of the poem `I Am Becoming My Mother,` by the Jamaican poet, Lorna Goodison...

I Am Becoming My Mother

Yellow/brown woman

fingers smelling always of onions

My mother raises rare blooms

and waters them with tea

her birth waters sang like rivers

my mother is now me

My mother had a linen dress

the colour of the sky

and stored lace and damask

tablecloths

to pull shame out of her eye

I am becoming my mother

brown/yellow woman

fingers smelling always of onions