She lives in a flat on the 35th floor of a high-rise building,
from where, from her glass window pans,
she can see spectacular sights of her living town,
high-rise buildings and elevated high ways.
She is living in relationship with a boy friend.
She is seasons of love; she is refreshing zeal of love.
Across the town she is the queen of love.
Having a baby in her lap, occasionally
she comes on a social web site to say Hello to me,
saying she is living with happy smiling in calmness.
An invitation comes in me to ask her
how she keeps her marvelous ambiance
that spills over her beauty and happiness.
One day she narrates the story.
She trembles, her glass window quivers, and sways.
There is sound of breaking on earthquake sequences,
She was asleep, and now wakes up,
Books from shelves, home appliances
and kitchen utensils are strewn over floor,
She is trembling, her footings are not stable.
She looks outside through glass pans, the roads are messy,
The hill is near and fully visible to the base.
And as far as her eyes can catch,
houses nearby are smashed to ground
and turn to rubbles, and now she has
to come down, it is so long to step down on stairs.
Lift is not working; electricity has been cut off,
she walks like a mad woman,
founding herself jumping like toad,
balance is not there, she hears sounds of cry, shouting everywhere. She takes her babe in her lap, in tight grip, in disembarked whims, finding no way but to leave this high-rise building or tower,
she moves toward road level on the ground, a little free space,
the whole flat may fall upon her, she fears,
she moves like squeezed fountain of endurance,
sudden exertion of soil, a death-blow on all that are created or naturally live, with or without a reason of blank participation to the earth’s graze, crude taint of love, here love is forlorn destiny
that crust makes, everyone falls, and love is now
something a rotten mango,
that can rot all other mangoes in the lot.
Yet she has to leave the place, her home,
it is the confidence of protection, and
so long she is in thinking about its importance in her life.
No place is safe, and the safe is the crust and the dust,
and all are left to have free choice to mingle with lifeless objects,
that have no feeling about what is happening on the floor
by the bemused shaking the earth, and later by the hurricane.
This is joyless and loveless, and wanton zeal of the earth’s anger.
She is mother; she feels the pain of the crust infusion.
Is there a birth? Is there a season to fear love?
Is there a reason to feel the treason in vein of the grace,
in a shameful design, non clouding sequence,
cramped frames of the mother earth’s love not identified.
So much quivering, so much destroying, so much mitigation,
so much exodus of fearful disgust,
so much driven burial,
so much pensive wrenched whims of mother earth, so much.
What we may call about, it is our world, our block, our pride representation, we live on it, share on it, and now
it is the earthquake, death propriety so near,
monster cannibal it becomes, destroying own creation.
She is woman; she finds no answer to this motherly shower,
and all are in crazy traits. She cannot search
for water to quench her thirst, she leaves all behind inside her home that she wants so long to have. And she builds them by ablest power of her sufferings, and she is methodic blanket of zero tolerance, zero perversion. She began stepping down stairs.
What a measurable she is now in distress!
She does forget to telephone her boy friend to know his position,
and to alert his safety, he is at his work place
and she has no time for thinking for him.
She has to think of the baby in her lap,
she is stepping hurriedly, but so many steps are there,
not ending, not counting around, she is in strangling pain.
She is losing her strength, and perhaps everything, every breathing; her heart is feeling the breathing of the babe.
Yes, she is able to rescue the baby at this time, but how far.
Every step is at danger zone, and as if the whole building will fall upon her. She is sweating, she is trembling, and she is breathing high, as if she is caught by abstract synopsis of death, no scope of evading the fate of death love. And she has to come down from her home to ground level, and still stairs are endless, and she cannot avoid the whole sequences.
O evil phantom, please peace be with you, cool down.
Let me live with my kid; let me walk down the path.
I am not false, I am not worm, and I am not evil symptom,
and I am not bone of your contention.
I am only a helpless woman, I am mother,
I am promised soul of love; I am designed for human fruits,
I am a leave of a grass; I am ornament of your soil,
I am evidence of birth, I am not stained, I am love,
I am not the shame of the earth; I am the joy of the earth,
I am proton, I am the nucleolus, I am the spin,
and I am the wave, I am the anchor.
O mother earth, behold my grace,
I cannot be your terminal point; I cannot be your pain,
I cannot be insoluble sand; I cannot be ill helix of love,
I am only a human being, holding the human life,
you have given me that reward.
O my mother earth, I am the soul, I am the raptures of love,
I am shapes of life configuration, I am like you, I am like your charm, I am your daughter, and I am your joyful plight,
I am the single internal bough; I am the cause of motherhood,
I am bright shade of love anchor, I am the eyes of cause of motherhood, and I am shades of love chromosomes,
I am the eyes of all creations, I m the womb of triumph.
Like you, I am innocence, moving life with mirror of love;
I am the inhaler of sacrifice.
Thus she is chanting, crying, moving,
quick footsteps she is coming down……
she is going down, down and down…
When she wakes up, she finds her in a hospital bed.
Her child is safe, but she does not learn about her boy friend’s fate.