The sullen dusk

Alone, with her old clothes and jewelry,
She sits, once again, amidst her memories.
The red sari, worn only once,
At her wedding, looks stiff and remote;
The other three, kept with the red one,
Worn hardly once or twice
During the past forty years, bear
All the memories of those occasions.
They too look forlorn, resigned, knowing
That they will never be worn again.
The other saris, of lesser stature
But worn on numerous occasions,
Look more cheerful. They have seen
The family grow; the children
Have tugged at them – the tear here
And a spot there is all their doing.
They remember the naughty things
Said about them by the husband.
She smiles with them, still a little shy
Recalling those memories.
The small earrings sit quietly in a corner
As she sifts through the trinkets.
The earrings avert their gaze
Trying not to remind her
That they were his last gift to her.
The heavy necklace, still resplendent
In its yellow glory, does not
Have the same haughtiness now
That it had, years ago, when worn
On big family occasions.
It was a sullen dusk outside –
The dusk, annoyed at how little
Was achieved by the day, folded
Its tents and kept its wares
Back in the gunny bags. The women sighs
As she puts the memories back
In the cupboard, with the saris and jewelry.
‘What’s the use of keeping this junk,’
She murmurs, while carefully placing
Each item in its allotted place.

About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

3 responses to “The sullen dusk

  • V.B. Arora

    ठीकठाक है! कुछ लोकल फ्लेवर ज्यादा है! हिंदी अनुवाद में शायद और ज्यादा उम्दा बन पड़े! That reminds me, have you ever thought of translating your poems in Hindi or even in other regional languages?

    • Abhishek

      Not yet, as of now experimenting with themes and styles – just trying to capture some emotions. As per your advise I am not being selective about what I post – so the quality remains somewhat uneven 🙂

  • Onkar

    I find it a very different sort of poem. Very refreshing.

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