So Say The Siblings


I go to my parent’s home
after a lengthened time.

My mom lies dead.

I stay there for a period
the mind journeys to and fro.

I stare at the place
where she combed my hair.

I notice the chair
which she occupied.

Her glasses she adjusted
while she read.

She would place her middle finger above
and the index finger below the lips.
A characteristic posture.

I break down.

The siblings inspect her belongings
Open her almirah Her collection
of silk, Benaras, tafetta baffle. The elder brother speaks out.

The elder brother speaks out.
“The silk is not for you.”

They examine the safe.
The jewellery of gold and gems
shine. Exquisite are her adornments.
The brother works in.
“The ornaments not for you.”

The siblings check her documents and stocks,
count her cash. A worthy inheritance.
In a chorus they interrupt
“The properties are not for you.”

I step out of the house
with mother’s memoirs. My eyes turn moist.
I turn back, just once.
Desist from uttering,
“Those are not for you.”

 

 

 

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