Granny and Her Room

BY SAJAL PATHAK

I return to the wreck
For I am stuck in an endless loop.
It's a room; derelict, housed within these walls,
A space bereft of hope, its being a burden.
The sun emanates light but it no longer seeps in, the clouds of gloom ward it off.

Of its occupants are her remnants ,
An almirah, its colour falling off, her silk sarees cloistered on its shelves,
Her red bordered towel that hangs on the
wooden door ajar like a sentinel on guard,
Her trinket box, its components a scattered
beauty on the bed,
A place where I lied down religiously,
Her voice tending my ears with my favorite bedtime tale of rags to riches.

I crave the sound of her sandals clapping
on the floor,
Her bangles clinking, her anklets tinkling,
And her eyes, their twinkle like the stars .
I have cremated her
Yet I fail to drop the curtains on granny's presence.


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