She made a cup of tea.
A cup of tea in the morning.
She made a cup of tea,
A cup of tea in the evening.
Later did she realise she was the morning,the noon and the evening.
She was the colourless alarm set for years.
The first light of day pierced through her tea,
Her lunch evinced the noon,
The evening tea marked the end of office hours
and her dinner reminded them to sleep.
She saw Stale walls and stale food scuffling before her.
The clocks ticked only for her.
The cats came only for the leftovers.
Shrouded in the foul smell of unwashed utensils,
Her kitchen turned out to be a quarantine.
What else do you want? you are the
second fiddle of the house.
As if the second fiddle ever mattered.
Love came and knocked at her door but walked away at anecdotes of children.
Her bindhi exploded at the sight of mirrors and
earrings stopped dangling when she opted for dazzling dishes.
Her life has accepted its monotonous fate,
Trying to figure out the once mopped corner.
She greeted the night to be embraced by the loveless moments,
Which hijacked her body and mind.
Perfumed by sweat and water,
her pallu resembled rainbow,
Forming a spectrum of light in her forehead.
And at the end of the day,
They say to get the dishes purified in the water.
If the water purifies everything,
then how does the purifier
Who purifies your dishes
get purified of your dirt?
A.C
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