Pieces Of Clothes Poem by Sreekala Sivasankaran

Nothing is there
Just nothingness
No matter what we do
We see the same old torn pieces of clothes
All around
A hilarious pun of an important word,
It teases and caresses the feet

The colourful flowers
Half-eaten by the flies
The neck cut off
Half-way in the refabrication
Yet ready to contain more pieces
To cushion our work-cracked back

One, two, three
Dots of blood stains
Mixing with the smells of
seasons
Laughter, cries and sighs
Dark patches of sky on the skin
Still sweating
Relentlessly wiping out the dirt on the floor
Covering a crack on the wall
Tying up the broken handle of a knife

So many years it lay there
All faded
Still so beautiful
Thrown out and brought back
Carrying the dirt
Revealing the crack
The bleeding wounds

Is beauty a memory?
A struggle? Perseverance?
A time-tested presence?
A drop of hope?

-sreekala sivasankaran