by Shwetha Mahendran
Shwetha’s poem depicts an innocent friendship between two children that eventually goes awry due to the socioeconomic cynicism exhibited by a group of adults.
the girl was from the other side
of my apartment’s perimeter. she was taller
by two inches, but my terrace
towered over hers: a thatched roof that surprised me
with its spirited silence beneath
the shadows of my balcony’s balustrade.
shuttlecocks napped on that roof, tired
after message-passing between our racquets
when we were seven; we were alike
as we watched caterpillars crawl
across crescent-bitten leaves; as we
heard the wind wail and wrench apart
Stygian clouds mirroring the tar roads—
they cried pools for our ugly paper boats.
but we were different: her rain-smeared walls
and my refurbished condo, condolences
the calluses on her palms needed, my hands
‘doughy and plump enough to make chapatis’,
like my mom said; her mother and her fishing net
were hostages of Marina’s sea.
but these were just observations of parallel lines
that forsook their apartness
like climbing roses and trellises, until the misters
of the apartment threw together a meeting
with a surfeit of coffee cups and pakoda crumbs
for the maid to clear; the watchmen were
instructed to shut the gates
if ever the kids came to play
from the other side; we were to stay
where we already were.
my balcony is still a shadow puppeteer
and that roof its stage
but i don’t think there’s anyone home.
Shwetha Mahendran is a student at Loyola-ICAM College of Engineering and Technology, India. She is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Computer Science but wishes to take up her postgraduate education in English Literature. Her interests include speculative fiction, independent films and pop music.
Lovely this is!