Age of eighteen-
Lost her son to
Pneumonia last week.
Husband in a local brawl
A few months ago.
In-laws in a bus crash
And her widowed-
Mother to asthma,
The year before.
Autumn hovering
Over her life,
People falling off like
Yellow neem leaves.
Her tears dry down,
Before even they
Could make it out
Of lashes.
Goodbyes, tired like
Worn-out feet of
Women fetching water
In Lathur.
The weak roof on
her head, out of pity-
Has decided not to
Collapse-
To let her have a
Discretion over her
Grief at least-
Not anytime soon.
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