Anchor

Anshul Rastogi

Betwixt the maelstrom of the storm-ridded ocean of souls I sway, I drift, I prod and I venture yet am never lost Anchored to the seabed by mothers and fathers by sons and daughters

Hand-in-hand, they are chain links to a boulder So far away in the murky depths to seem a specter

Their utterances are whispers now carrying half-imagined figments of the halfforgotten kneading oil-laden cotton wicks for a diya on Diwali; proclaiming a bond between siblings on Rakshabandhan; the rhythm of a tongue so distant yet so drummed into our souls to seem inseparable ferried by a reverence to another world another sea within the ocean, now a glacial deposit in memory

They give me strength, purpose, pride

My son, they tell me, cupping my face in weary hands

Remember a world of brighter dreams

Author’s Note: This poem was created for an assignment in Creative Writing 1 based on the theme of Tradition.