A day has gone by
Deducting one day
From my life
I ponder
What I achieve
And what I give.
Day comes with morning newspaper
News of tension and terror
News of aversion and horror
Fill the morning editions
I flip through them
And think
How have I enriched from them.
Then comes our maid
In her torn saree and ragged blouse
With tension writ large on her face
For fear of facing wrathfor coming late.
Tingling sound of utensils
Fill the kitchen air
She toils her way
Through the grime and dirt
That we have accumulated.
She leaves the house
Showing her gratitude
For thechapati and cup of tea
Or the paltry sum
We dole out at month's end.
I cook meal,
stuff tiffin boxes
And see children off to school.
Hurrying from place to place
I see that every thing is in place
In between I munch some pieces of biscuits.
Or have sip from my tea cup.
When every thing done
I look at my watch and wonder
Ah! I will be late again
And will face the angry boss
At the office entrance.
No, I can't go
Without checking
Lock and keys
Doors and windows
And children's meals.
Wow- it is too late
There is no time to eat
And I rush to office
With my vanity bag
Hanging from shoulder
But full with
False ego and emptiness.
Monday, September 17, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: life