Quilting the Poems

Haunted by Rat

Written based on the story from a refugee. I heard it from someone who lived in refugee camp when they arrived from Pakistan to India during partition.

It was a dream I guess,
must be a one
because animals don't laugh, do they?

There was a rat at my door,
swinging on a swing,
grinning, taunting.

Its white body was red at places;
was it the one I killed?
It was still laughing at me;
but at what?
At my guilt?
Or at my helpless expression?

I didn't mean to kill it then;
it was my only friend--
wild, untamed--but still a friend
in that refugee tent,
but it was eating the last grains.
I panicked.

Now, I have it here with me again,
on that swing.
I cried and apologized again and again,
but its smile never faltered.

Tell me, it was a dream, right?
Not that dead rat haunting me?
I have a house now-- my own,
uncontaminated,
pristine.
Say please, it was a dream.