Amma's lost home : her stolen
treasure.
I have been rinsed and soaked
Listening to her stories of lost
home.
She has transferred to me
The collective trauma of her
generation.
I am carrying it inside like a tree,
growing despite my discomfort.
Its branches molested, leaves fallen
crumbled and crushed.
Yet the tree is growing.
Despite my reluctance to carry her
past
Stories of homeland are entangled and
entwined on each leaf of my tree.
I, an extended version of her
Carrying inside me, the silenced
voices, suppressed emotions and unanswered questions.
I have greatly inherited from her
The ability to 'hold' her memories of
lost home
In the form of a melting pot,
Which burns my hand.
Still, I am holding it tight
Clinging to it like a spider on its
web.
Her lost home which I have never seen
Is
part of my existence now.
What am I in store for my unborn
children?
Am I going to break the pot or
Pass it onto them to be carried
Generation after generation
Bearing the title "Amma's Lost
Home".
-S.Sivaji- 18/11/16, 00.36am
