About A Room Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Not too long ago
my mother used to live
in this room,
it was our habit
to walk in and walk out,
to ask about her health,
to inform her about
what goes on outside.
Often about her generation --
about the lamps that stopped glowing,
about her favourite niece
who suddenly lost her husband.
Tears in her eyes,
a tearful surrender,
things that were under control once
fall apart as age catches up.

That room is still there,
but no one visits.
There is no point,
days do not return.

But the room exists
with all its vacuum,
it speaks volumes --
sometimes heart
can feel the sadness.

The room exists
with all its essence,
an enormous vacuum
lives there,
reminding feelings.

Feelings.........................