The Wrinkled Shadow
Most of the days as I buy vegetables
the old woman would move around
close to me like the winter tree
The leaves mostly robbed by the time
tangled age seated in the hair
the freckles painting the drudgery
The unwashed and overused sari
stained by the tears of poverty
Would not speak to beg money
would just move around
with the eloquent wounds
Most of the days but not every time
I would give her small amounts
A faint almost invisible smile
Would come and disappear
The lips lacked tissue
The other day in the late afternoon
when the shadows had started prolonging
under the banyan tree
the afternoon light and the leaves
wove hand in hand a story in the shadow
The very small and irregular shapes
of the pale soft light
sat in such a way that gave the impression
of a woman squatted on the pavement
It looked so from a distance of say thirty feet
As I came close
I found the old woman sprinkling
parched rice to the pigeons
The source of the shadow the afternoon painted
beneath the tree
A little tissue collected in the lips now
The lilac of love doesn't wither
Nor the object
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March 2, 2018
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