Shruti Goswami


Proof - Poem by Shruti Goswami

She waited
Doing odd jobs
Tirelessly for the money
That never came.
The man of the house
Busied himself
With booze and friends
Showering gifts and alcohol
Like money was dirt.
Yet not even a piece of dirt
Reached her dirty hands
While she toiled to make
Both ends meet.
It was her savings
She gave up
For him to survive
Now with his pockets warm
And his spirits high
He survives a different life.
In the process
He forgot
Who stood by him
And who deserted when he fell
And slowly killed
The little life
That was taking shape.
His own seed
In the womb
Of the mother neglected.
Just a little piece of dirt
That Darwin never thought
Would be required
For the survival of the fittest.
But it could not prove itself
That hapless piece of life not formed
Not yet ready to prove a point
Impoverished and neglected
It evaporated in a little blood
With a life time of vengeance.

Topic(s) of this poem: desert


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 23, 2015



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