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
periodically.
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
amma?
Meenas Poems 