Today,
I remember looking up from
the History of the English Language
and wondering
if that pink lipstick
ever got smudged,
if the end of that sari
nestling on your nape
was ever let down
to reveal
a cleavage
if that fragile figure
had any strength
at all
and if those
large pools of eyes
ever became more
than just shifts
over faces
in the classroom.
The memory is intact
You were on the pyre-
rivers and mountains
away from home,
just like ajee had been.
They forgot her name
when they put her on the pyre.
Today,
I only remember
your blue silk sari.
I remember looking up from
the History of the English Language
and wondering
if that pink lipstick
ever got smudged,
if the end of that sari
nestling on your nape
was ever let down
to reveal
a cleavage
if that fragile figure
had any strength
at all
and if those
large pools of eyes
ever became more
than just shifts
over faces
in the classroom.
The memory is intact
You were on the pyre-
rivers and mountains
away from home,
just like ajee had been.
They forgot her name
when they put her on the pyre.
Today,
I only remember
your blue silk sari.
What a wonderful tribute to our dear Ma'am.
ReplyDeletethank you. why doesn't your blog say who you are?
ReplyDeletei'm inspired to write about my teacher too. this one's lovely and sad.
ReplyDeletei'll read, A. do write.
ReplyDelete