The clutter lying before me
old and new things
of all metals
makes me crazy.
Those of which are gifts
that which came to me
from my mother
all remain unmoved.
Layered with dust
each one is clad
in white cloth
and blanketed.
I sneeze and cough
while I undress them.
a ritual I follow
every year.
The last two years
I have been lazy
did not bother
to visit them.
This year broke
my hip and knees.
Double the labour
I have to put forth.
The white dress
looks yellow.
I order for new ones.
One more expense.
I cannot dispose them
s my mother forbade me to do so.
She comes as though in real
when I think of offloading.
To honour her wish
I attend to them
year after year
to keep them in order.
Meenas Poems 