A Poem

Inspired by "Writing With Soul", I wrote this poem about my grandmother, Alice Rajah. She was an amazing woman - mother of ten children, an educator and a passionate advocate of the Mahabharata. I dedicate this poem to my father, John Rajah.

* In 1942 Japan invaded Singapore. My Grandfather's tyre factory was taken over by the Japanese army to process rubber for their military needs. My family's colonial mansion and family jewels were also stolen by the Japanese. This was a shock that my father's aristoractic Ceylonese family never overcame. As a result of the war, my father and his family lived in a small one bedroom apartment for three years. Every night my father and his brothers would sneak into the jungle searching for food, or if they were lucky, my father would be asked by Japanese soldiers in his district to play the piano for their Sunday entertainment in return for one small bag of rice. This would feed the family for at least a week.


A Bag of Rice by Shanti Clements

Brown hands slide over ivory keys.
Fingers that are dark against elephant tusk
Pound furiously, then gently, like a thunderstorm transforming into spring rain

Remember days long ago, when your island was invaded,
Playing piano tunes for homesick Japanese soliders?
Nimble fingers and a contagious grin
Were all you needed to survive.

One bag of rice
A payment for your musical service
Fed a family of twelve
Living in a tiny room.

When food was scarce in the jungle
Or your brothers' nightly search for sustenance
Was hindered by Japanese soldiers,
One bag of rice
Could fed a family of twelve
For one week.

Alice, your mother, would cook
Carefully and reverently the sacred grains.
She would boil up a weak, watery gruel
That fed the family in its pecking order.

First your father,
Your older brothers,
You,
Your sisters,
And then finally
Your mother would eat.
She would wait patiently,
Ensuring each child had eaten their fill
Before venturing timid fingers
Into the remains of drying gruel.

A large woman before the war,
She emerged a sparrow-like figure at its end.
Even when prosperity returned to the family
She remained a prisoner caught in a time-warp.
Eating only, for the rest of her life,
Scraps of rice and curry gravy
Leftover in empty pots.


Do you have poem or a piece of writing you'd like to share? I'd love to read it!
If you'd like to 'tap in' more to your creativity, check out Writing With Soul at http://circumference.net.au/public-programs/writing-with-soul/.

Shanti x