The Harvest

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She opened her eyes
and there was wonder all around

They loved her tiny limbs
grew proud of her staggered walk

She didn’t know who they were
so she called them a random sound

The sound of a bird, the sound of a goat
the sound of a cat and that of a dog
The sound of a lion and that of a horse
the wind and the raging sea

They were all these sounds for her
like an old cassette in her heart

She opened her hands
and there was knowledge all around

They loved her slurs and syllables
grew proud of her wisdom

She didn’t know who they were
so she called them a random sound

The sound of boiling tea
and that of a pressure cooker
a door bell, a television
and that of an old scooter

They were all these sounds for her
like an old friend by her side.

She opened her mind
and there were possibilities all around

They said they loved her
and were proud of who she was

But had to tell her who they were –
they were not a random sound

They were the song of the harvest
coming from the bellowing fields,
then the cry of a desperate seller
and finally the sob of loss
of their decorated crop.

They were all these things
They were the parents of a girl.


shubh

Shubhshree Mathur

Shubhshree is a storyteller and design educator from Kota, Rajasthan, currently based in Bangalore. She is a tea lover, bibliophile and as outgoing as a houseplant. She combines visual and text together to give meaning from the mundane. Her personal context finds refuge in things like a clothes pin or bathroom slipper, and that is the kind of vernacular association that makes her writing awkwardly relatable. With 8 years of industry experience encompassing research, branding and writing, she aspires to create her own books one day! You can read her poems here.

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