Coldest day
And a euphoric sight!
A tin shack in a furrowed field
And in its empty yard
A tribal mother and her eyes’ kohl
Raking fallen leaves
To cook a meal lean
And beat the day.
Mother is bloodless
And her child lean
Ill-fed, ill-clothed,
They nakedly clash with the cold.
Hazy sunset, smoky, mud-oven,
She, at times sings and sways
And her flesh mashed to her arid breast.
(The poem is taken from my collection Undying Embers, Authorpress, 2022,p. 40)
To buy the book, click here
