The Tight Lipped Jars

I  open my refill jar.
one that contains
chilly powder.
 it lies  empty.

it is Samy ( my helper’s) duty
 I mumble.  Pounding
 and filling, he does

I go to the larder,
the three tight lipped jars 
stare at me, opening  
the chilly one find

a few tablespoons remain,
 on the lid find Samy’s name 
writ large by the pounding mill,
an identification.

Fuming  I step out, 
he having served me 
for long, I forget 
he is no more,

Samy, I call, he appears 
smiling,  exposing 
the coloured teeth,
scratching his head,

Oh! no! I cry 
 Samy can’t be here.
Wait, Did  I hear Samy calling