Picture On The Wall Poem by K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

My grandma returns my gaze,
the sagging chin, deep withered
lines and sunk eyes wrought
by obsession he mistook for love;
Three generations had flowed
down the river; on its scorched
bed are footprints fading in
duststorms; she believed
what was seen, did as told;
she was a toad in the well,
croaking as time went by;
Never felt the glow of youth
caught early on wheels of bondage;
Her plastic world took in myths,
rustic gossip and wrath of the gods.

A query in her sad, vacant look
- why death took so long?
- consigned to the walls,
a footnote in family memory.