Garbage Hall Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Garbage hall

Not only house turns into garbage hall
But paintings on wall
Speak with frown face
From each corner you shall face extreme chase

Her absence is extremely felt
No fragrance is smelt
There is no drop of utensils in kitchen
And no gas is also on

As I am novice in food preparation
I don't know what can be termed as ration
I used to lump sum money in her hand
She was pulling me through it up to an end of the month

Oh! I find no towel
The trouser is hanging on wall hanger
Nothing is traceable with one attempt
"Why did she go in her parent's home" I prompted thought

Now I realize why we become yes man
And she has formidable position as best woman
I finish her demand at first call
Let no one listens to her raised voice across wall