Thinking of you Mum and Dad: A poem 

I may never know the distance I traversed 

from my womb. Only feel the doom in my room 

It may come too soon. I practised my line 

to say: Never mind! That’s consolation, I find 

Mother often scolded me for saying: Let it be!, 

when things went wrong. I should’ve told her 

it freed the anxiety. Stoicism is an uncommon talent. 

Mother had to abandon her own cocoon, late. 

She had to leave her home before she died, 

when she had no will to live any more 

I was happy to give her a little happiness 

in return for all the happiness she gave me 

I insisted, but she didn’t want any of it, 

as her arms and limbs gave up on her 

I am confused about wombs, The mother 

I lost, because she was disinterested in love 

when she was too feeble to love. Or the mother I once had 

I don’t know one womb from the other 

A country that I gave up, for an adopted one 

The coast kisses each of them 

Only it is colder now. And I am older 

Mother took death in her sleep at eighty-five 

Dad died wide awake at fifty-seven 

He didn’t see much. Call it bad luck, 

For children were too young to fend for themselves 

and repay him for his deeds. And I think of a father 

who’d say: Never mind! And smile down at you