Balgobin Singh Sept 1913-Dec 2008
He was the person who taught me to have the deepest love and respect for the land. When I visited him in August 2008, after almost a quarter of a century, he recognized me instantly. He needed no aid in his daily life. His grip was as strong as I remembered--that of one who worked on and with the land. He was more than farmer. He saw his 95th birthday. We thought he would live to be 100.
A HAMMOCK IN THE WIND
Balgobin Bidatha Singh, Sept 1913-Dec 2008
Your axe as clean as a new razor
cleaved logs to firewood like knife
on thawed cheese, down-stroke the arc
of a butterfly. You taught us how to walk
lightly on the earth---leave no footprints
behind; how to peel an orange,
the honed twenty-two a penknife in your hand,
producing an unbroken string of rind dangling
in the wind while negotiating a footpath “aback.”
Resizing a fallen tree trunk, chips flew
like starbursts. Rock gently in the bottomhouse
hammock and hum Tulsidas’ poem for the ages:
Shri Guru Charan Saroj Raj,Nij Man Mukur Sudhari
Barran Raghuvar Bimal Jasu,Jo Dayaka Phal Chari…
With the dust of guru’s lotus feet, I first clean
The mirror of my heart, then tell the story
Of Shri Rama, giver of the four fruits of life…
At ninety-four you are sipping tea
and laughing at sugar—I consume two pounds
every two weeks!—needing no cane to walk
or no aid to memory: the grip of a teenager,
how to compare palms and trace strength,
the thorns of a tangerine tree, unshouldering
a bunch of fresh-cut plantains, how to tie
a cotton band around your stomach –a brace
for back—before sinking the fork in the soil…
Who scattered those ashes in the ocean,
and sprinkled a handful “aback” on this mother
earth you taught us to love, humming
the Hanuman Chalisa in the wind of your wake
the vacated hammock swaying like a kite-tail
©Sasenarine Persaud
Balgobin Bidatha Singh, Sept 1913-Dec 2008
Your axe as clean as a new razor
cleaved logs to firewood like knife
on thawed cheese, down-stroke the arc
of a butterfly. You taught us how to walk
lightly on the earth---leave no footprints
behind; how to peel an orange,
the honed twenty-two a penknife in your hand,
producing an unbroken string of rind dangling
in the wind while negotiating a footpath “aback.”
Resizing a fallen tree trunk, chips flew
like starbursts. Rock gently in the bottomhouse
hammock and hum Tulsidas’ poem for the ages:
Shri Guru Charan Saroj Raj,Nij Man Mukur Sudhari
Barran Raghuvar Bimal Jasu,Jo Dayaka Phal Chari…
With the dust of guru’s lotus feet, I first clean
The mirror of my heart, then tell the story
Of Shri Rama, giver of the four fruits of life…
At ninety-four you are sipping tea
and laughing at sugar—I consume two pounds
every two weeks!—needing no cane to walk
or no aid to memory: the grip of a teenager,
how to compare palms and trace strength,
the thorns of a tangerine tree, unshouldering
a bunch of fresh-cut plantains, how to tie
a cotton band around your stomach –a brace
for back—before sinking the fork in the soil…
Who scattered those ashes in the ocean,
and sprinkled a handful “aback” on this mother
earth you taught us to love, humming
the Hanuman Chalisa in the wind of your wake
the vacated hammock swaying like a kite-tail
©Sasenarine Persaud
