I am an old gullak made of clay, Passed down by the one and the only, His soul, I bear, remains animate, And I am inanimate, a coin holder apparently. From morning till night, I stay, unacclaimed, waiting for the opportune moment, When coins jingling in, they rain, I withhold the happiness of the moment. Though my day is always incomplete, My stomach begins in fits and starts, I feel a presence naughty and cheeky, To steal a few, he runs and darts. But I admire his mother ‘s efforts, She kindly caresses me, I have grown to love her for, To always spare a cloth for me. Her roguish son is well known, His exploits and failures swarming, Naught a care of knowns and unknowns, A jobless wanderer struggling vouching. The father is a clerk in electricity board, Always putting right glitches, He never fails to impress me more, His constant trials always amiss. I am the onlooker and the bearer, Scars of time touch and press against, I am the carrier sometimes the life saver, Old times flutter by and regain, In darkest of hour they flock, I feel confusion and despondence lay, An overpowering smell of greed rocks, Encouraged by tinges of vain. Red stares circling as fire does, I get them from time to time, I have witnessed the fights buzz, Delicate desires shapelessly chime. I feel strong hands press grasp hold, Should I believe the end of the apparent coin holder? Misery overpower what life beholds, Love encloses them all in a bundle. And the rackety windows stop moving, Staying calm through winds unwinding, Coins chime again filling, Little trifles pouring counting. You must see, they are full of taints, They stumble fumble and rain with mistakes, Yet I adore them just this way, And this coin holder is here to stay.
This is a poem written for the W3 Prompt hosted by David where the poets were asked to pen a poem from the perspective of an inanimate object using personification. I fondly remember a show ‘Gullak’ which we watched during lockdown in which the family regularly makes savings in a clay made gullak. The show captures the sweet, sour and bitter essence of life. The middle class family struggles with disagreements, and fights. Yet at the end happiness arrives, the fights end and the fire subsides. Everyone are held together through thick and thins. I was inspired to write this poem in order to profoundly capture the true spirit of a family. It is quite sad that these gullaks do not remain anymore in the dusty shelves of Indian households. But the habit of saving money has never gone. People use newer methods brought by the advent of technology.
MusingsofMind 