Do Not Tell the Children
I cannot hold you in my hand for long
nor comfort you with vagrant lullabies.
Your nature is to stray into the dark realms
of the hidden trees.
Comfort comes from knowing the safe places
deep and separate, past the beaches
and the furious sea.
You balance mountains on your forehead
and pine trees on your finger tips.
Alone, you fight the night screeches
of the sleepless birds and build your defences
like the jackal in the silhouette
of the enormous hill.
I have nothing to offer you
but an eternity of lines around my throat.
Circles of time.
There is no comfort in growing old. The old are too old.
So I have frozen the moment.
The precious moment is frozen forever.
Do not tell the children ghost stories.
Tell them the truth about ghosts,
for they were born with them embedded
in their folds.
Silgardo, Melanie. “Do Not Tell the Children”. Nine Indian Women Poets – An Anthology. Ed. Eunice de Souza. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. 33. VI. India