Margadh Mapusa
Agus bhraitheas uaim sibh
a aintín is a uncail
ag margadh Mapusa,
i measc na sillí
an gud, na tamaraine
is an fhínéagair.
Bhur nguth ag cogarnaíl
thar mo ghualainn
is mé ag tuisliú romham
gan tearmann.
Bhí tú lag
Nuair a bhuail ailse thú
Leag an chemo amach thú,
An mhaoile ina finné ar do phian.
Braithim uaim do mheangadh gáire grámhar
Do ghothaí fáilte
An tslí a ndéarfá, ‘Let it be!’
Nuair a théadh baba ag pramsáil timpeall an tí.
Bhí a fhios agat, seans, gur ag dul in olcas a bhí sí,
a uncail, is ar do bhealach meidhreach féin
bhís foighneach ach guagach ar a shon san.
Nuair a d’iarr d’aon iníon ort teacht go Mumbai
in ísle brí a bhís
gus tuairim agat nach mbeifeá ar ais.
Tusa 87 agus aintín 86
cad eile a bhronnfadh an saol ort?
Jab maith le L agus T
post oifigigh ag Mantralaya
An bheirt agaibh ag obair
agus in bhur gcónaí i Mumbai.
Ní raibh i nGoa ach eadarlúid
do bhlianta an Fhómhair.
Bhí mórtas ort nuair a thaispeáin tú na cártaí gnó
a bhí ag do thriúr mac
in Borivili, san Astráil agus sa Nua-Shéalainn –
cheapfá gur sa seomra suite a bhíodar.
Tráth i gcliabhán –
cliabháin dá gcuid féin anois acu.
Ní féidir a bheith ag súil le lá
a chaitheamh libh níos mó
Nuair a thiomáinimid isteach ó Vasco
chun leoithní Corjuem a bhlaiseadh
Inár suí ar na céimeanna i dtreo na habhann
áit a luíonn trucailí ó Assnora gan chorraí.
Mhair sibh idir Mumbai agus Mapusa
ar nós na ndroichead stagcháblaí Worli agus Aldona.
Thug mamó is daideo
aire dóibh féin
i seantigh Goach
agus cuimhní ar fud na háite.
Ina luí anois i reilig
In Kandivili i bhfad uainn.
Níor fógraíodh do bhás sna nuachtáin áitiúla
Mar ómós deireanach do shaol gan cháim.
Thaitin mo chuid aistí leat.
Phléimis Krishnamurti eadrainn féin
Tá an halla an-chiúin anois.
Ag fanacht go ndíolfaí é.
Mar sin tógtar as mo radharc na bananaí Moira
cuirtear i leataobh na scuaba nua
cuir i bhfolach an bláth cumhra mogra.
Rapáil na rópaí sin do na goirt.
Níl éisc ghoirt ag teastáil níos mó sa tigh seo.
Fanadh na hispíní le haghaidh lá níos faide anonn.
Féachann na bumalónna as alt.
Agus diúltaím don phicil tendli.
Tá folús ionam inniu
tá ár sinsir imithe chun suain.
Cuid de Ghoa ar lár.
An margadh ag caoineadh.
Brian Mendonca
(Margadh Mapusa, Goa, 17 Samhain 2015)
Mapusa Market
And I missed you
aunty and uncle
in the Mapusa market,
amid the chillies
the gud, the tamarind
and the vinegar.
Your voice
whispering over my shoulder
as I stumbled onward
sans refuge.
Cancer claimed you
when you were feeble
flattened by chemo,
baldness, a witness to your pain.
I miss your loving smile
Your gestures of welcome
The way you used to say 'Let it be!'
When baba used to romp around your house.
You perhaps knew she was sinking, uncle
In your whimsical way you remained
stoic yet unstable.
When you left, ailing for Mumbai
at your only daughter's call
You perhaps knew you would not return.
You 87 and aunty 86
What more could life offer you?
A good job in L and T
an officer's post at Mantralaya
You both lived
and worked in Mumbai.
Goa seemed an interlude
for the Fall years.
You used to proudly show me the visiting cards
of your sons
-- in Borivili, Australia and New Zealand--
as though they were sitting in your living room.
Once you had cradled them
Now they have cradles of their own.
So now we cannot look forward
to spending the day with you
when we drive in from Vasco
to taste the breezes of Corjuem
sitting on the steps towards the river
where the trucks from Assnora lie unmoving.
Your lives bridged Mumbai and Mapusa
Like the cable-stayed bridges of Worli and Aldona.
Grandfather and grandmother
fended for life alone
in an old Goan house
sprawling with memories.
Now interred in a cemetery
in far away Kandivili.
No local papers announced your death
as a last salute to an exemplary life.
You were a fan of my articles.
We used to discuss Krishnamurti
Now the hall is silent
Waiting to be sold.
So take away the Moira bananas
Put away the new brooms
Hide the fragrant mogra flower.
Wrap those ropes for the fields.
No more salt fish are needed for this house.
The sausages can wait for another day.
The Bombay ducks seem out of joint
and I'll say no to the tendli pickle.
There is a void in my being today
our ancestors have gone to their rest.
a piece of Goa has died.
The market is in mourning.