Poetry...Wednesday. Makes Hump Day easier to deal with. Hooray!

Most of us who drive know what it is like to be motoring down a street, highway, road or avenue, and then out of nowhere there is a continuous string of red lights that cascade over the road like lava slowly moving down a mountainside.

We moan because we are now caught in traffic and can’t figure out what is causing the delay.

This morning we faced a similar obstacle…a delay…a stoppage of momentum.

Prarthana rescued us. And we thank her for her prompt reply and herald her contribution to “Avenues on Wednesday.”

The Red Oak Door

Our ancestral house had a red oak door
towering tall against cold December winds
and June afternoon rains.
Sometimes it kept out wild stray cats
that appeared mysteriously
and left empty crates of packaged milk
spilled on old kitchen rugs.

But mostly, it welcomed visitors,

neighbors and the unexpected passer-by.
Even when evenings rolled into
savage rainy days that rattled our roofs,
there was the occasional ring of the doorbell
with a familiar face or an unsuspecting visitor
at our Bougainvillea-draped front porch.

The children usually came in clusters,

scuffing along flower-bedded sidewalks.
The tallest one managed to reach the door bell
after several leaps into mid air,
waking up inmates out of cozy, warm beds.
But with no signs of a potential playmate,
they went dashing to open fields nearby.

On special occasions, families visited

traveling long hours from uptown.
At the door, the men brushed imaginary
specs off ironed pants;
the women tucked in unruffled hair behind ears
As the bell rang through empty corridors,
and the faint sound of footsteps was heard,
they cleared throats just in time
to greet the host with beaming smiles.

There was the occasional visit

from the khaki* clad mailman
with a jhola* strung around his angular shoulder,
carrying neat stacks of wrinkled envelopes
grabbed by our eager hands.

Changing seasons wrapped hours into years

like faint memories of holiday presents;
the big old colossal door now stands
a little rickety and timeworn
yet burnished and beautiful,
like our own  lives.     

Khaki – A cotton or woolen fabric of a dull brownish-yellow color

Jhola – A sling bag usually made of cloth or jute

- First published in the anthology of poems, Songbook Circa in 2011by Reliance Unisun.

Prarthana Banikya (photo provided)

Prarthana Banikya is a poet and writer based in India. A graduate in Sociology with a certificate in poetry, Prarthana spent her formative years in the valleys of Assam from where she draws inspiration for most of her writing. She blogs at https://prarthanabanikya.blogspot.in.

Watch for Ms. Banikya’s conversation in the “Chat Me Up” series later this year!

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