The windows churn the sunlight
They provide only bleakness
Every filtered thing is poisoned
Every made thing is cursed
Here are the truths I state as verses
Do they spark bewilderment?
The boxes were full of her clothes,
They ate the jewelry that my mother never wore,
They kept the torn sarees warm,
But I didn't take them with me.
Without a body, leaving a space sounds unholy
Without a body, possessions aren't possessions
Anymore.
I left the boxes
They are in the hall room
On the piece of the floor where my mother was to turn into ash
How can I take the belongings away from a place
That has carried her air?
Tiyasha Chaudhury is a listed reviewer of major Global Publishing houses. An ardent reader of poetry; exploring Russian and German literature with peak interest. Two of her extended reviews have been published in the October Issue and March Issue of Kloud Nine Magazine whose chief editor is Ruskin Bond. She can be reached at @tiyashachaudhuryreads on Instagram.
