ARUNA GURUMURTHY

ARUNA

GURUMURTHY

Infant’s Masterpiece

I never thought a year ago that my house would be invaded by baby board books, rattles and soft plush toys mercilessly lying around, tunes of “Für Elise” and nursery rhymes emerging magically from her crib, things thrown around like an infant’s masterpiece. I still have a long way to go. Globes of fond goodness melting within our hearts, shards of crystal bottles cracking open, the sleepless moments and seamless ways of multitasking. But I don’t have a penny in my piggy bank if I don’t reflect on our journey and the many monster ripples we have had along the way, that we kept wading and that ducks now seem to fall in a row.

Red Poppy Flower Peeps

I thought she was gone. But I gave her water, anyway. Every day I made sure she was blessed by the bounty of sunshine and a stream of water trickling from the waterspout to her mouth, refreshing the dry remains of her life, recovering from sadness. The tiny bubbles in line made a soft trail, touching her under the mud, lifting her kindly. I endeared her with pellets of fertilizer and food, her hungry soul, wanting to sprout into glory. I threw in some prayers too; I prayed to the Almighty, “Oh God, she is Mother Nature, bring her back to life, bring her back to me.” Today, after a long spell of bathing in love, fondness, and warmth, I saw a red poppy flower peeping into the air, soaring high, then slightly bending to the earth, as though wanting more. She gave me a mouthful of motherly joy. My senses prickled with her blessings, bringing me tears and tearful joys. She told me to keep on going, even if you have tears. She spoke to me in a language only I understood. “Don’t cry. The poppies will shine soon, we will be a garden of reddened bliss, so don’t think we had to die.”

I Am Drinking A Cup Of Courage

In the middle of stormy seas and monster ripples, a 12-month-old crawls the unseen ladders of fright, a 720-month-old senior is cornered by dementia, a 400-month-old dizzy, staggering mother is ready to drown. Oh God, I cry for a small cup of courage. And God says, “My dear, a cup of courage is not a given, but a birthing.” I wander in the wilderness, searching for that enticing cup, gently plucking herbs, shaking and stirring them into the know-it-all of my life. Marrying every rhythm of reality, twisting each misty morning, touching my tummy, I feel the bubbling of something special. Courage is about to be born.

ARUNA GURUMURTHY

ARUNA GURUMURTHY is an American author and observer of human nature. Since her childhood in Mumbai, India, she has embarked on a journey of creative exploration and, within her short prose poems, tries to capture the beauty and art in the world around her through empathy with others. Her poems have appeared in two regional anthologies, Heron Clan V (Katherine James Books, 2018) and Heron Clan VI (Katherine James Books, 2019) and are forthcoming in First Literary Review (2020). She has authored five collections of poetry from 2016- 2019. Aruna is part of the thriving Southern literary community. She lives with her loving family, including her husband and young daughter, in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.