A piece of backbone

One fine morning
She realized
There was something in the world
Called a backbone
But, where?
In the body?
In the mind?
In the dustbin?
Or in the bow-shaped curved back of grandmother?
Father’s tired shoulders?
Mother’s irritating tongue?
Or the eyes of the sister peeping out of windows?
She searched every corner of the house
But could not find the backbone
Later on--the story does not remain long--
Her eyes stuck in the place of sister’s eyes
Mother reaching the place of grandmother
It always remained difficult to get the backbone
She searched on the roof
In the almira
And on the bed
One day
While adjusting the fire of the stove
She found a piece of backbone
Let it lie safe for someone
Who can get it
At least a piece

2

This was the old story
I heard in the songs of the bird
While she was playing with the dust in the courtyard
I started searching for that
In the brother’s school bag
In the stick of grandfather
In the mustaches of father
All my trying got fruitless at the end
Sometimes I felt its presence
In the eyebrows of mother
In the basket of the fisherwoman
In the broom of the sweeper
At last I got a jar in the store
Kept behind kitchen vessels
The jar was filled with oil up to the neck
On the top there was fungus
Under the fungus
I got a piece of backbone
Which was kept by someone

Now I sow it in the big meadow,
Where it spreads like a banyan tree
With branches spread in every direction
Backbones should blossom as red flowers
Drop in every house and spread as seeds

Now I am searching
Not for the backbone
But for the meadow
Where I can sow it
Till it is kept in the flowerpot
In my drawing room as a bonsai.