In front of our eyes,
Today evening,
Within all gossips,
All laughter and tears,
That sublimes with time.
She picks up,
Her belongings,
Looks them.
Keeps them,
Back again,
In known corners.
As if they are useless,
Like her body,
Never were hers.
And her eyes have,
A question intact,
For the eyes around.
Is there any,
Just one child,
Among so many,
Who shall carry?
Her traditions,
Her hopes,
Her dreams.
Just one child,
To keep,
Those old,
Few broken jewelry,
She never repaired.
To keep intact,
The real brilliance.
The timed faintness.
And today she,
Fears being sold,
Fears being useless,
Like another metal.
Like everything !
And suggests,
To melt down !
To put in new designs !
To carry forward,
May be not the Gold,
But her golden moments
Associated with them !
As her last hope.
Seems melting today.
She never unfolded,
Her pink saree.
Kept like that.
The fibre pack,
Still colored,
Emitting orange rays,
Lying within vermillion,
Of her marriage.
Today she looks,
Around us,
Dry lips shut.
Those eyes,
Below wrinkles of her,
Asks a question,
Her Belongings !
The poem is really very touch one…