A Monument
The easy chair with moist trails of memory
lies unused for four decades now.
Termites feast on it.
One of the legs needs a support.
As children, we hopped and bumped on it
not after it sucked in our father’s last breath.
It holds his scent, desires and zeal;
Mom wanted to preserve it for long.
She sits by it every day, wipes it with her own cloths,
her way of reverence, to last till the day of their reunion.
It gets periodic touch-up, but
imminent deterioration with time outlives all.
Finding it difficult to destroy or dispose
for affinities and affections to our parents
embedded in its weary planks, the chair has become
a monument filled with memories and sentiments.
Weeds
Grass weeded out from paddy
Hay from grains
Husk when polished
Fat after cooking
All weeds come back as milk
Nothing called weeds on earth.
Author's Bio: K Pankajam works for BHEL and lives in Chennai, India. She has two collections of poetry to her credit and has been published in Muse India, Contemporary Literary Review India, Reading Hour, etc., and some more are forthcoming in a few more journals. Her poems have been included in the anthologies The Fancy Realm and Roots And Wings-An Anthology of Indian Women Writing In English. K Pankajam can be reached at: kp_bhargavrag@yahoo.co.in.
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