A Lost Widow Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

Black night with deep silence
Cockroaches have bends in their whiskers
Rat proliferates in the dank store house
Making noises in their pointed tails
Beating against baskets of chaffs;
Lost in the dream of youth the old man
Snores sounding as waterfalls;
The wooden cot bearing his frame
As if a mass of cloud does the moon;
Billowing wind owes a breath
To the hiccupping woman on the floor;
Suppurating smell of burnt skin fills
The hearth blackened with spilled broth;
Earthworms stuck to the base of pails
As she dips her toes in the holy water
To make the journey weaving patterns
Of scalded dreams around her feet