Poetry. Child at Hastings Crossing by Adreyo Sen
Child at Hastings Crossing
You are a child Matrushka doll.
You have another in your arms.
She’s impossibly small –
did she ever learn to move at all?
Guardian of her dulled dreams,
you gape forlorn
into the rush hour traffic gleam,
hidden by the jutting arch,
you are almost part of the dark,
the dark that hears the soundless scream.
My little Matrushka, with swarthy Krishna’s face.
whose history the winter will soon erase,
I wonder what goes on in your ragged head,
why no begging bowl at your street-side bed?
You give the unseeing street your stillness
why not your loud pathos instead?
Perhaps you were a creature born to quiet trust,
to be adored by the helpless you quietly nursed,
a proud mother’s silent joy,
a rising family’s pride unalloyed.
And now in the sweetness of your embrace,
this little creature will grow to grace.
And when there are carpets under her feet
and all around her a kingdom vast and neat,
will she remember your passionate mother love,
the strength of your arms
as You watched her from above?
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