Strings

Choman Hardi

From one branch of the fig tree

stretching to the window

a string made the line for our clothes

the strings we once had for swinging in picnics

used to hurt my bottom

and my mother made a special cushion for the swing-

once we hung it from the gate on a summer afternoon

and the neighbours came to have a swing too

the strings we use to tie our lives together

the strings that stretch with us

the strings that hold us back

and the strings that strangle our dear brothers

Roj was given back to his parents in pieces

although his sentence was to be hanged

a blue string reminds me of travelling on a spring day

watering the thirsty grass

and loving the sky

we spoke in clear blue at those times

a string was still a harmless thing.