Thursday, March 31, 2011
Burdensome, it ought to be
They keep asking me
Who am I? again and again.
Honestly, I don’t know
Because I’ve no memory.
Everything for me
Is now and here.
Perhaps, a day old thoughts –
Nothing more, nothing less.
Biscuits you promised, uncle!
Reminds the child at souq.
Did I? When? I ask.
The other day, remember?
The other day? What’s that?
Yesterday? I ask.
No, last Friday Uncle!
Outside the mosque, remember?
Here’s your money. Take it,
Offers the young man at souq.
My salary is credited.
Thanks for help, Sir!
What money? What salary?
Did I give money to him?
When? By the way, who’s he?
My memory is blank.
Enough. Am going home,
Threatens the lady at souq.
You fend for yourself.
Can’t live without money.
What’s she talking about?
What home? What’s living?
By the way, who’s she?
She said the same thing yesterday too.
Excuse me, madam! Listen.
Take this money. Use it.
Give biscuit to that child at souq.
Before that, tell me who you are.
Father, what’ve you done?
Look, mother has swooned,
Screams the young lad at souq
As crowd collects around the fallen lady.
You’ve lost memory, yes.
Why should we suffer, you old man?
You’re good for nothing. Go away!
Oh, God take him away. He’s a pain.
The young man shouts a lot more.
The lady on ground wakes up
With anger, pity and disillusionment
As I scan the crowd for known faces.
No recognizable faces, so far.
Except the vendor who offered
Water a few hours ago as I came out
Of mosque after watching prayers.
And the toy-like dog under the tree
That licked my extended palm
And ate out of my falafel plate
Outside the roadside café.
I feel light and happy.
I’ve no memories to carry
Along all day and night.
Burdensome it must be.
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