The Visit: IMature

The Visit: I

My dad and Aunt Premala,

They had moved to,

The room Semanti and I,

We used to sleep in,

So I slept in the room,

My dad and stepmother,

They used to have.

 

Though completely relaxed,

Without so realising,

I sat in a way,

That exposed my cutting scars,

And my dad pointed out,

That I was too self conscious,

Realising dad was right,

I hastened to correct that.

 

My stepmother suggested,

That if any visitors,

Accidentally saw my scars,

I should pass them off,

As cooking burns,

And to this I agreed,

With gratitude and gladness.

 

It was as wonderful,

As the prevous visits,

I remembered at seventeen,

Thinking of it as Heaven,

Although not Christian,

During my second visit,

And the third,

I considered it paradise.

 

The difficult climate,

I was prepared to adjust to,

For I truly love,

My dad and stepfamily,

Even lack of freedom for women,

I was willing to accept,

In fact the homophobic society,

Was the only serpent,

In the Eden of being with those I love.

 

Dad's friends said, and I agree,

That it would be too difficult,

For someone brought up in England,

In the Western culture,

To adjust to India permanently,

Besides which, as my stepmother said,

They can't accomodate me,

For more than a few weeks,

And I understand that.

 

Only a fool like mom,

Would say that meant,

That my stepfamily do not love me.

They love me all right,

And I love them,

Of that I have no doubt.

The End

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