You’ve left your love on the woollen shawl that Dadi keeps wearing,
the summers are approaching,
and she washed the shawl,
it’s now gone, the love slipping off and falling down a drain
with only a sliver of light coming,
and the love was never blind before, but it’s almost blind now.
Love continues to flow down the drain, as if it is on an adventure.
You’ve left your love on the tablecloth.
Mats that are only used when a guest arrives
your mother is unaware that you’ve left your love there
because no one has come since you left.
And the love there is almost rotten now because it is out of sight;
it doesn’t need touch to survive, but it does need to be seen.
You left your love on your parents’ bed,
and mother tucked it under the bedsheets
like she tucked her wedding album under a chiffon tattered saree.
And you’ve never slept in your parents’ bed,
and now they haven’t either.
Everything is the same, but
the tucked in love keeps overflowing from the bedsheets
covering their feet,
you’ve never touched your parents’ feet
what is their coarseness?
Sandhini Goyal is a Literature major student from Lady Shri Ram College for Women, University of Delhi.