We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags  
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Professor experienced was he.
Woke up in the morn asking tea.
Hurriedly bathed and brushed.
Towards steely almirah he rushed.

Couldn't decide which pant to wear.
Called wife to decide combing his hair.
Shirts were of different color and hue.
Mother came and chose color blue.

His father decided which tie he'll tie.
While he ate poori and aloo fry.
Couldn't decide which shoes were best.
Daughter chose brown and left the rest.

Couldn't decide 'tween bus and auto.
Son advised from auto he should go.
Entered class room briskly walking;
And taught 'Effective decision making.'

Rising Tide.
Fading sunlight.
Ascendin hunger.
Descending tolerance.
I crave; a bowl of soup.
Light.
Darkness.
Blackout.
Carried.
Where?
A prayer answered.
A beg for a bite.
The loss of limb.
So what?
I am filled.
Pain.
Hunger.
Satiated...
I am sold;
ornamented in the devil's almirah...

She was their World,
Her presence made their hearts run wild,
Her smile melted the iron bars,
Holding power to manipulate time.

But she slept,
For eternal rest.
Leaving behind all her memories,
Eloping to a World,
That cannot be approached, without pain.

The red rose in her garden,
Shed tears every dawn,
Wanting the touch of a hand,
That caressed its petals,
With deep love.
Every dusk it cried,
'Come back! Come back, dear.'

The old tree that stood for aeons,
Withered its leaves,
As if eager,
To reach a destination.
That would make it,
Meet her.
Acknowledging that actions were
Futile,
It said, weeping,
'Come back! Come back dear.'

The dresses in her almirah,
Stood still,
As if lifeless.
They didn't move,
Not even when winds,
Blowed,
Still shocked,
That she left them,
Not even a tear dropped down,
But they quitely prayed,
For her to come back.

The house was dull,
As if blood was,
Withdrawn from its body.
No voices,
Only eeire silence of longing.
The incessant darkness,
Inside it,
Only wanted her light.
And it wished,
For her to come back.

Then were they,
In the niche,
Crying for what they lost.
She was their blood,
Their soul,
Her smile made them smile,
Her pain made them frown,
Her worries made them worried,
Her satisfaction made them satisfied.

But she had left,
Taking all their emotions,
With her.
Only leaving them with,
Unending tears.
In their hearts of hearts,
They wished for her,
To COME BACK.

In the almirah corner, it lay,
Day after day, untouched, unseen grey.
Dun and dusted, its shimmer gone,
Once proud, now forlorn.

It first adorned a joyous frame,
The groom's pride, a life to claim.
A new suit for a bride so fair,
Their union sealed, a love to wear.

From meetings to galas, it bore the strain,
Day in and out, through sunshine and rain.
Before mirrors, it struck a pose,
Before cameras, it proudly rose.

Time marched on, as time will do,
The suit's threads faded, its purpose too.
The owner retired, and with a sigh,
The suit found its place where old things lie.

Beside medicines and x-ray scans,
It watched the world through aging hands.
But love rekindled a gentle spark,
The suit was worn, its journey embarked.

No goals to chase, no grand parade,
Just a quiet walk in the evening shade.
With a smile that spoke of days well-spent,
The suit revived in an instant of love.

For the owner well knew, as wisdom grew,
The suit was something more than just threads and dye.
It held the story, the love, the pride,
A lifelong friend with him through the times that glide.

Behind the almirah,
I saw Anxiety,
Trembling and gleaming
Like the eyes of the rat
That cowers and pants.

I dared to speak to it,

And it like a traumatised patient
Only stared at me

And I, a little child,
Got scared.

It was not a jubilee,
but I had come to pay my debt.

Stepping gingerly in your
father's study, you open the almirah.

No I am not afraid.
I have come to visit my father.

The hurt has not destroyed me completely.
Days were numbed like by vespa stings― with
burning, swelling and soreness.

I slide the clothes. In
deeper layer a plastic pack appears. on the
bed of dried rose petals,
sits a singed, brown vertebra―
collected after his funeral.

My talisman. I touch it.
Turn around―
don't look back
and walk away.

When I arrived at home
from my work place
My hubby was sad
"What had happened? "

I lost my spectacles since morning
Neither I could read newspaper nor I could write poetry

"Don't worry I will find"
tried to console
I checked all pockets of his shirt and pant

I looked in almirah
I looked in fridge
I searched in washroom
I checked in kitchen

All in vain
I gave a pause

"If I find your specs
You will make a cup of tea for me  which he never"

Again I searched
under bed
on bed
I unfolded  the blanket
Which he used at night
It dropped from there

He picked up and smiled at me
                   AND
       I WON A CUP OF TEA