From the wry peg,

Suspends the hot water bag,

 Upside down,

Its cork drips water no more

To draw the evocative lines upon the wall,

The clock now sleeps continually,

Discharged of its duty to wake up from time to time,

And alarm for the medicines to be taken on time,

Her sarees from the cupboard now,

Exude memories’ fragrance from each of their folds,  

 All the bustles are hushed up now,

And she lies beneath the vault of silence

By the tall and brooding tree under the moaning moon,

Shedding  its feeble light upon the sand.

……….. Dr. Fathema Begum