My grandparents’ house once stood
mud and thatch, a stone’s throw
in a pool of progression.
The resulting rings told of new technologies,
expanding family
a rippling out of concrete houses
evolution
in a small plot of land.
A push over though,
and structured like a dunked biscuit.
History worth preserving, perhaps
but no longer a liveable home.
We stay on the same spot
some floors up
in my father’s unfinished building.
Solid and warm
in handmade bricks and steel
its foundations are deep enough
for storeys to come
its foundations strong in the stories past.
© Saradha Koirala 2011
I have just returned from Nepal where my dad is building a house (ghar) on the family land.
Lovely poem – I can see the house and I love the idea of the construction being rooted in history.
Thank you!
A lovely image of the thrown stone and the resulting rings – concrete houses – progress… and the ‘circle’ too back to the earth – the new rooted in the past. I’d love to see more of your Nepal poems Saradha – a sequence or even a collection perhaps?
Thanks, Mary. Yes indeed more to come! It was a very inspiring experience.
Well said, Saradha. ‘Structured like a dunked biscuit’ – so true!
Thanks! I thought you’d like that image 🙂
nice, aaaaalmost sad that something so permanent being set up on an organic site
Yes, I felt a bit sad about that too but I shouldn’t be so sentimental – it’s a much safer and healthier place to live now!