The half white curtains,
with mild designs, small
flowers in yellow, lying
on a pale green stalk,
pinned stripes running
between, withstanding
the test of times .
look weird, originality being
lost, a bit out of time,
absorbing dust and mites,
outgrowing the process
washing helps not
recovery impossible, but they
retain a kind of affability.
Changing them being
way, I do a bit of shopping
going and coming out
of the shops which boast of
enormous collections, none of them
suit my taste. The bold patterns
and shiny texture throw me out of gear.
Back home, my old ones
greet with warmth, sensing
a familiarity I get near
stare at them for a while.
I say, “Oh! my pal! you
have been with me so long”,
of late I talk with the doors,
windows and curtains.
Meenas Poems 