The birth of Smriti
Inside her womb, my tunneling vision
creates indecisions; I do not know where I am.
I probe the walls softly, the heart of my being
begins to become; mother picks up an apple,
I am as happy as I can be.
The first memory: her delicate, thin hands
rocking my little limbs and I begin to sleep;
I begin to dream, of what a world could be,
My newborn sensibilities take the form of coal --
golden, this new feeling as I feel it, I take home
the comfort of my mother's soul.
Every new minute unearths a new keepsake --
I look around the hospital room;
There, my father, a rejoicing knot of light
walks in with his friends.
Red roses prance everywhere,
I have arrived from a distant star;
In the distance, a dimming carousel,
veers towards a tulip field.
Blue days turn yellow and pink
as I shuffle towards eternity.
My first memory: my mother's eyes,
as I fuse into my father's arms.
Snata Basu is an aspiring poet from Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her work mostly centers on passionate, personal bindings. She is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at North South University.