Shriya Prasad“ I asked her if there is Spring in India,
Then she said that there was spring everywhere,
“It is supposed to be”, she said,
Which left me drooling over how many supposed to bes I’ve missed over time.
Outgrown some of them,
Out casted many others,
Battled most,
Which when won lost meaning,
And lost, lost purpose.
There was supposed to be knife for me back home,
One which could only cut soft things like butter, too soft to hurt its owner,
A prized possession it was.
I cut all things, I back then labelled “cuttable”,
And many “uncuttables”, struggling and panting,
I cut butter into tiny, asymmetrical cubes,
before my mother could melt them into a vanilla and orange flavoured cake,
Which once baked, lied hot and ready to be cut by my supposed to be.
As I grow older, no more was my supposed knife, my companion,
It was replaced by a rash youngster who could cut anything,
But took the most pleasure in cutting my raw, spoilt, protected hands.
Instead of replacing the knife with a more friendly one,
I was asked to stay away from it,
Like how we are told to wear the right clothes,
Or not be out after eight,
Or seven-thirty if you’re in college.
My supposed to be knifes all melted away sooner or later,
Is there actually autumn I asked myself,
No spring without autumn.
Is there really autumn?
Is there really autumn, carrying yellowish-brown supposed to bes?
Is there really autumn, unblinding us of ourselves?
Is there really autumn, is there really autumn?
Noticing the blank portrait of wonder on my face,
“It is supposed to be, don’t worry”, she says,
I don’t know why I smile,
For the first time in many autumns,
My supposed to be has returned to me.
“ I suppose”, I repeat and we rush inside,
While the little tease breeze blows a few brown leaves into our face,
and away from where they belong,
It was seven-thirty and we had to go,
Pray for an autumn yet to arrive.”
*
పెద్దన్న
వంశీ కృష్ణ
కృష్ణుడు
శ్రీనివాస్ గౌడ్
కృపాకర్ పోతుల
తిలక్ బొమ్మరాజు
కవనమాలి
Good one Shriya!
Thank you so much, akka. Hoping to see you soon. Have been thinking a lot about you lately!
an uncut diamond 🙂
and, what about those designer knives each costing hundreds of dollars, made for a specific purpose? and, in any case, knives are outdated tools – it is now the age of fast spinning grinder blades.
and, even that is besides the point
aren’t poems like this “supposed to be” issues of my generation? you should be writing something like Kingsley Dennis’ Bardo Times, and Adam Curtis’ Hypernormalisation..
Life seemed so much easier and better without grinder blades when pickles were freshly made in mortars. ”Supposed to be” here is not an address to any problem, andi, merely a eulogy to all the memories of growing up which have deserted us to aid us in the process of becoming adults. It could also be read as a kid’s bitter-sweet response on coming in terms with the reality. However, your suggestions intrigue me and I intend to work on them for the next issue. Thank you for taking the time, andi. Hope you and aunty are doing well 🙂