The Lie

Margoa, Goa .
Father Agnel's ashram
a few cottages.

A 'mother' in each home
and orphans.
Each home clean
well kept, equipped.

We sat on the parapet
and watched the children play.
Twilight set in
with deepening shades of grey.
Children ran here and there;
skipped, danced, pushed and fought.

I didn’t know when Frazer
came and stood beside me
Holding my finger in his tiny hands
he asked,
"Will you be my father"?

The last light in the sky
had faded into
the silent night.
"Yes", I lied
twenty years ago.

Alhmahrum Burhanudin

I got the news early morning
about the ceremony that was to take place.

People had gathered outside the house
where arrangements were made;
chairs, benches and cartons of mineral water.

They sat talking, smiling and joking
of things at the office, of the forthcoming elections
where Megawati was sure to lose.

Newcomers were greeted with broad smiles
and called to take a seat.
Burhan lay inside the house
covered with a cloth
on the floor.

They bathed, dressed him
and laid him on a cage like steel stretcher ;
the flesh didn’t hurt anymore.
A small journey to the mosque nearby,
before the prayers were offered.

They lowered him
wrapped in cloth
into the freshly dug grave .

At the hospital the night before,
he had held my hand in both of his.
“Thank you”, he had said
“for saving my life.”

© ashok gupta 08