Author Information
Timber Merchant
When I was a child
I remember you carrying me in your arms
the grey pseudo membrane covers my pharynx
making it difficult to breathe
Diphtheria was common in those days
You were turned away
from the footsteps of Holy family hospital
I saw despair
Flow down your cheeks
Where to now
You murmured
As I slipped into unconsciousness
The haveli in Shimla
Amidst blue pines
You, your young family
My father, his brothers and sisters
Settled, content and happy
Forest was your business
Himalayan cedar, silver fir, white oak
Your touch turned them to gold
You took to the road in ‘47
Independence from British Raj and idolaters
carnage ensued
innocents, vulnerable
those who had no say, paid
The Punjabi sky above endured,
said no word but it poured
you spoke little about exodus of your own choice
and loss of everything
the hardship years, the eldest his fits of psychosis
chained, there was no PTSD in those days
people took things in their stride
his young siblings, their silent cries of pain
for the valley, the green trees
the wind that rustled between
the paths that led to nowhere
your hands never spoke of the stories
but you rebuilt the nest
and one by one they flew
some near
others to faraway lands
I want to know more about you grandpa
I am not small anymore but your legacy is so much bigger
One thing I am certain
giving up was never in our blood
