The maid-A lone Rover
Gazing from the rusty windows, yawning away from the fragmented dose,
as the dark night rings into a close.
Decades of enduring sultry summers and the harsh winters,
with the frizzy tresses turned grey and silver.
Hooding her head with a black veil,
taking off the handbag slung on the nail.
Hastening her pace forward,
ignoring the glaring glances of gossipers gathered.
Crossing a dozen streets,
as the tedious routine repeats.
Breezing in uproariously to her workplace shrieking on her phone,
while mind is lost in its own zone.
The booming voice that echoes, undermining the weldors’ noisy sparks! Clutching the phone and beating her chest with war cries, as she walks past, “Stop there or simply pass”.
The upraised arm, swaying to and fro,
of all the tales of woe heard in a row.
In a flashback, she must have been a pretty lass amidst Bengal’s trickling streams,
weaving a hundred hopeful dreams.
As twelve notes her bridal ring,
sixteen sees her cradle swing.
Lo and Behold! A brood of seven,
with life being at sixes and sevens.
Bundling away a thousand miles ashore, to an unknown life in store!
The hazel eyes that tell a tale,
of all the tears shed beneath her veil. Seldom a mutter of pain or hate,
as her loved ones on the other side await.
As dusk falls, after the wearisome grind,
and the mundane chores come to a wind.
All set, with bundles and packs of bottles and tins,
hoarded from nearby bins.
Limping away to her usual haunt, for a chit-chat with her comrades; the store of gypsies, lounging beyond the Mosque gate,
Home alone before it’s late…..