rumaan's home

Image Courtesy: Sean D McCormick
rumaan ran away
after his father beat him
with an oxtail whip
he kept running
until he saw from the top of a hill
flat golden land
free for as far as his good eye could see
his heart missed a step
this, this is my home

he fell on his knees
and raised his face
to the bluest sky
he had ever seen
he watched an eagle
swoop down and snatch up
a hare snoozing
in the tawny grass
yes this is my home

he ran down the hill
reached the bottom
with arms thrown out open
laughing he ran some more
until he tripped and fell
on the spot where the hare had been
there he lay stones
there he planted a door
this was his home

he brought himself a bride
bought himself a sword and a whip
then came servants and their
families and cattle and horses into the land
his land was marked
as beginning from the door
covered miles on all sides
it was soon a little town
this was his home

then one day
he decided to build a wall
starting from the door
a wall so tall and forbidding
that even when it was only a couple metres long
the golden land within came to be called
rumaan's home
he smiled he knew
men respected walls like they respected swords

the wall would never be complete
one afternoon he sat on the threshold
of his door, next to his
only grandchild, a bonny girl of five
and watched the sun rise
he looked down on the dark head resting on his lap
all this land behind us darlin' is yours.
two hours later servants were sent to look
for rumaan and his grandchild

they found her crying near the wall
rumaan still, cold, dead
the wife asked that
they bury him near to the door
no need now to fear his whip
or his sword
so they all packed up and left, all folk,
the wife, the son, the grandchild, the servants
this was no place to make a home

that was centuries ago
i feel the weathered wood of the door
i wonder why this beautiful land lies still
why none dare proclaim as rumaan had
this, this is my home


© 2011 Padmavani Karkera
This poem is in response to the Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge featuring photographer Sean D McCormick. You will find Sean's photos at www.neutralhillsstills.ca
I consider this a very raw first draft and will most definitely see some edits happening soon. Do leave your comments behind. I appreciate hearing from you.

Comments

  1. Wonderful first draft... the bones are good, the doorway to life awaits this young lad.

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  2. Great draft! It's a really intriguing story so far. I'm curious about the wall that will never be completed. I'd definitely remove any direct reference to it and try to better describe that detail. Keep working on it! I want to the see the final draft.

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  3. I like the intricate story you have drafted, and also believe we leave our energies behind in the physical world, and the sensitive soul can feel them, hear them like a whisper against the fleash of reality,

    Elizabeth

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  4. Thank you for dropping by Reflections.
    Ami, appreciate your letting me know. There is a certain something that I want to capture in this poem... I will come back it soon and will mail you when done. Thanks
    Elizabeth, you seem to have understood what I was attempting to communicate through this poem. Thank you for dropping by.

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  5. wow - what a powerful and epic story you've woven here..a whole life packed into some stanzas..very well crafted padmavani

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  6. Absolutely spectatular! I was so engrossed I didn't want this poem to end.

    It is epic and so internal in humanity.

    What a wonderful poem!

    Lady Nyo

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  7. Great work for a draft!! Look forward to the final print.

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