All The Lonely People Featuring Poulome Mitra Shaw.

Another in the series of Loneliness poems, from our All the Lonely People Anthology. This time, Poulome Mitra Shaw  joins us. I love the deeply woven relationship between a daughter and her mother in this poem, and the different kind of loneliness that going out into the world on your own engenders, leaving the safety of a familiar and unconditional love behind. Thank you Poulome for all you do and for your great contribution to Plum Tree Books.

When it rained

Poulome Mitra Shaw

Sometimes I just want to find my way back home mom
To your beloved mornings of faith
When I simply woke up to those motes of dust
Shining in thin air little playful with the sun.
To patterns of expected life
When you would pack my tiffin with all those colours
Of everyday love of a caregiver.
To rustic deliverance of your simple rights and wrongs
As mundane as your archaic beliefs
And deep within I was besotted to the pursuit of an alchemy.
I want to walk back to your dreams and simple beliefs
of mediocrity, of stability, of unshakable love;

My pursuit of alchemy brought me
To towns of psychedelic lights
To music and laments
To jewels and narcissi
To debauchery and to towns
where it rains and clouds
And it clouds and rains again.

When it rained then I would get drenched tossing my curls
The passion and plague of a teenage heart lived.
Each drop was festive as end of it all you drew me back to your beloved toiling arms.
When it rains now I just look at the colourful umbrella in the corner
I watch it rain from my window I fear going down
I stand protecting my own
I don’t let the rain wash away the remnants of my home.
I remember you said, this is my new home.©

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About Dr Niamh

When I was a little girl (a very, very long time ago), I used to love learning new, really big words like ‘discombobulate’. As I grew, my love of words grew too, until I loved them so much, I could not stop writing them down. One day, as I was scribbling a particular word, a very peculiar thing happened. The word shouted at me, “Stop! Don’t put me there!” As you can imagine, I was shocked and nearly fell off my chair. When I recovered somewhat, I said to the word, “Could you stop shouting, please? I am not used to it.” Can you guess what happened next? No! I thought not. The word said, “I might be small, but I will misbehave if you do not use me properly. I will not tell the story you would like me to tell. I will say something entirely different!” I dropped my pen. I hoped that by dropping my pen, the word would stop talking. Alas! It did not. It carried on chitterchobbling, even after the ink had dried. I was in a pickle. I could not allow my words to run away with my story, now could I? I don’t know about you, but when this sort of thing happens, there is only one thing left to do if you prefer not to spend your time arguing. “Very well,” said I. “I will do as you ask if you will just be quiet and allow me to concentrate.” Since that day, I have been paying special attention to every word I invite into my stories. After all, a story should say exactly what it means to say and not be led astray. With love from Dr. Niamh, Ph.D in Learning Through The Imagination and Founder of Dr Niamh Children's Books. www.drniamhchildrensbooks.com

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