What Shall I Tell You? Poem by Reshma Ramesh

The day arrives with its pretty might,
Romps around like a pampered queen,
Taps running, women praying, children crying,
Land tilling, the light in my house filling
Should i tell you about these or the unfolded sheets?
The colours of the wet clothes hung to dry
How they sway ever so slow, or about the
Broken black handle of my pot, or shall I tell you
About the chilly that eagerly got into my eyes,
Then the tears that spilled in all different sizes,
And the remedy my maid began to advice
The breakfast that slipped
A bowl of milk, cornflakes in the hall
The delighted pup that licked it all
Or should I tell you how
When in hurry I told the flowers
About you today they turned their head in delight,
They, the scents in the turmeric and the whites in the marble
Your praise they did despise,
The little girl around the corner selling flowers,
She smiled at me knowingly, what about her?
As the day slowly leaves yawning into the twilight,
It is not the day I dread but the longing night
With my sleepy eyes rubbed and the kajal smudged
Unkempt hair falling on the drooping shoulder,
The rumbling house now quite and in these hours,
I look for you, my incoherent muse, my comfort
Lap to lay my bleary head on and found none
And this long, shredded, rainless night only just begun
All this and a little more, what shall I tell you?