In her world of Karma
Her day of writing
is not about costly fur coat
which hangs around her
and a few known;
not about wardrobe and bedecked neck-
jewelry studded in glittering stones.
Then what?
A day of scorching summer heat
On her head of pot brimming
with gurgling water equally hot,
her hand on hip for a supportive clip
while her sandals draw unsteady flip flops.
Each careful step aligned
with a concern of her child
in cloth cradle hanging from beam
of dilapidated haven, a lullaby
by its elder sister echoing her still.
Reaching the blessed home
for some lean protection it gives
for she is the sole bread winner
disowned by her husband long ago.
Blessed landlord in wretched times!
Her contacts not, never,
in swim bath suits and
rich flavored juice in jars
morning and noon in cool sips
matter of distance for this poor.
Her improvised kitchen
Catering to her bare needs
Compels her to sing s self made
Song of karma , her karma
Why this on her hearth and how long.
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