Thursday, July 28, 2005

an empty chair
a story of when my grandparents knew me less
but still sheltered me,
the dal softening in the solar-cooker
that winter - we had one-celebration-too-many
who came, who didn't?
the green of this garden is paling now
i never go there,
i never play there,
poke around in the mud.
my mother is not tall enough now -
to dry clothes this high.
my world is fast becoming
a history of sorts, written
in commented photographs.


At 9:41 AM, Blogger smriti said...

i just discovered you...did i discover you too late? are you not bloggig anymore? will i have to hunt extensively to read you? ... please write. your words reek with...? i donno, they make me that peaceful way which only sadness can do.
hope to see you again.


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