A Stink From The Portico Poem by Sathya Narayana

Sitting in the portico
while he keeps burning his lungs
and bloating his liver,
gossiping on others' fallibilities
she sits in their bedroom,
alone in silence
watching some trash in the T.V.

The housmaid complains:
'I can't clean that place...
Oh, how many empty bottles
and stinking butts
and the floor...wakkk! '

She throws a dry stare
at her housemaid
and then turns away!

Sometimes she gets angry,
very, very angry
when breaks the bottles
and crushes the packets.

I wonder whether
it would be better for her
to weep, at least once.
After all she can't be a stoic.

There is a saying: that women carry
potful of tears on their heads!

What happened to them
in her case?

Later I realized
she got inner outlets to eyes
from where drip down
incessant streams of tears
in an effort
to douse her red-hot heart!