TEJDEEP KAUR MENON 

 

Angry Mother

 

When mountains crumble,
ground beneath your feet takes wings,
the roof that protects you, kills you.
When your legs that from the day 
of the first steps carry you
refuse to stand.
When the hands that shielded you day after day
hang by your side.
When you search for a slice of bread

after wasting endless loaves.

When the tree that gave wood to build your home

falls, slicing through.
When the white snow halts the 
flow of red blood.
When the mountain peak is
not your destination,
its base is.
When fires burn aimlessly.
When nobody rescues a kitten.
When teammates are trapped in debris,

others trample them, to break out.
When watching a cinema
you become an actor in a crime chiller.
When the cries of patients 
can kill the doctors. 
When the rubble is pregnant with your child,
when your well being makes news.
Abode of Gods washed with milk and
honey is engulfed by greedy waters.
When the rain drenches your bones,
peels the skin from your lips.
Where the fingers refuse to push back
tangled life and hair.
When humans come to grab your share.
When foreigners watching you on television
Pray.
When the picnic is a funeral.
When you have cash buried in a safe,
earth in your nostrils.
When they knife your earlobe
for its gold, slice your nose. 
When even one shriek is welcome,
but no shouts are heard.
When dogs, companions of the God of death,
sniff out survivors,
you know the Mother is angry.