(a poem dedicated to the parents of the specially abled children)

She was an hour old when I first held her
Extra soft, malleable like a blob of jelly
Pink Mongol hues brazenly shining while she slept
All she had was an extra chromosome…

Would she ever talk? I wondered. Would she call me ‘maa’?

Three summers passed in their bright splendor
The Gulmohurs blossomed in their earnest fervor
Her cherubic smile engulfed all brightness
Her gentle-seeming wide face rid all darkness.

Would she ever talk? I wondered. Would she call me ‘maa’?

But my girl remained a mute spectator.
Her stubby limbs, gleaming eyes slanter.
Couple of years rushed like a stagnant monolith
Yet to talk, had she already reached the Zenith?

Would she ever talk? I wondered. Would she call me ‘maa’?

Her heart wasn’t sturdy but her eyes always sparkled
Surgery and therapies filled her life’s precious moments.
Her inability to talk drove into my heart like a sharp knife
Could I just give her a few scraps from the fabric of my verbal life?

Would she ever talk? I wondered. Would she call me ‘maa’?

One night when she was six
The night lamp casting marvelous images on the wall
I hear a muffled mix
“Maa… Pee” she needed help to answer nature’s call.
Tears of joy flew down my cheeks as a consequence
I assimilated the melodious assurance of her presence.

Would she ever talk? I wondered. Would she call me ‘maa’?

But of course, she did, restoring my faith in my struggle
Despite life throwing curveballs, I simply won’t buckle.

©Priya Nayak-Gole