Charulata...

Charulata wakes off one more sleep.


Bits and pieces of dreams,draped in the folds of her saree.



The vermillion on her forehead,smudged
A bit in the coffee cup,a bit in the lentil rice...


A bunch of unruly hair,peeps through
What had been tied to a bun...


Stuck in the arms of a clock,lies
The secrets of a busy memoir...


The loneliness,a routine habit,lies
Hidden,in slices of Tagore...


A sudden,unknown desire,lies
Stuck,in a leftover fish bone...


The person is washed off,everyday,in bits,as
She learns to put on an unknown surname...





Stuck in the antenna,lies one kite,lonely
Married to last night's stale leftovers,my Charulata.....