The Flood

The little boat rocked,

And somehow put the crying baby to sleep.

But sleep never came to him.

He who had fathered this child,

He who had lost his wife, 

He who never had a mother of his own.

Will this little girl too

Inherit my curse?

For except for being motherless like me

I hardly have anything, 

Which will be passed down to her.

And now these floods!!

Be like water, his wife would say…

Just keep flowing.

But for him, 

It was his wife

Who was his water…

Who quenched his thirst

Who cooled him down

Who washed his sorrow.

Where do you go when your lifelong doctor dies?

Tell me, he asked the boatsman.

What do you do when the ocean swallows 

Your little stream of joy?

The boatsman had nothing to say.

For years he has been ferrying people

More so during the floods.

He and his humble boat had seen and heard

Stories like this and much worse.

Much worse because

One of his youngest passengers has been a 3-day old baby

with no mother,

no father…

no family, whatsoever.

All he knew is,

Floods were the times 

People were ready to pay him

Sometimes in cash,

Mostly in kind.

His arms would ache,

His shoulders would hurt

Ferrying bodies (Dead and Alive).

But floods were the times

When his hearth was lit.

He never cursed Nature for floods,

Neither did he rejoice.

And today,

As this father wept…

All he could just say is that

This is but the circle of life.