A room of one’s own
Something stares
back on me
as if a bamboozled,wandering ,
looking at what?
The murky smell of dust,
Like irreconcilable
Sediments, unswept layers
Of deep-rooted , pain
inflicting
Cogitations thronging
those many,
The smell of tea , otherwise aroma,
Puffs of smoke emanated two
days ago
Scary flies today
mercilessly swarm,
The broken pieces of ‘’Fa’’
Edge the shiny ,polished table,
exotic fragrance is dissipated,
pile of uncollected ,multi magazines
crave my touch and glance quick,
jasmine, breathless ,dethroned
from their stem,
my being
away for two
days,
it is not room of my own.
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