The Red Saree

I swept and mopped,
My face; The floor.

Searched for the concealer
for the sleepless nights.
Mirror stared at me-
I recalled the day,
Crow landed on my face.
Rivulets on my cheek,
Found way to my sagging breasts
splitting into a million capillaries.

I wore a tight bra,
To smoothen my stretched organ.
Draped the Red Saree
over the golden blouse.
Knew it'd arouse.

Tugged the saree
Below the navel.
Noticed the thorns,
curling all around.
Pulled the costume,
an inch or two.

The bird chirped;
I opened the door.
Saw a girl in red,
her hand around,
a familiar neck.

This man I shared bed with,
for thirty odd years,
had found another red saree.

Song of Solitude

A dark room in the House,

with doors and windows shut,

letting no light inside,

confined from the rest,

unfaced to the outside,

with no trace of life

sits a little figure by the cage.

Bundle of cloth she is,

wrapped and dumped in the corner,

her only companion- The parrot caged!

Never she talks... she moves never,

stares at the picture.

Could be her lover or son

who abandoned her half-way through.

Take a closer look at her face

so pale and bleek,

there is a tiny tear drop

on her poor wrinkled cheek.

She recalls the days,

Oh! so joyful and mellow.

Her heart saddens at the thought of

years spent alone.

Her strength fails, her will falls,

She stretched out her arms skyward,

trying to grab something from heaven above.

Momently there is a heavy breath taken,

and silence creeps in.

Wind comes in from the cremation grounds

and leaves through the door.

Alas! There are traces of life no more...