(The father pressed clothes at the corner of a large dusty field in the middle of a colony. The mother went around collecting & then delivering the pressed clothes. Their little child – thin and dark, but amazingly sweet –  would play by herself all day. The suddenly she was no more. An incident long back, but the memory is as of yesterday.)

“One down and nothing more,

The father presses clothes as before,

Stupefied mother sits in a corner,

No friend or family congregation,

No funeral procession;

Their child, a tiny spindly thing

Died yesterday evening;

Neighbourhood dogs are out sniffing,

Car doors continue slamming,

Dry leaves lie in dusty hoar,

One down and nothing more;images G

No time even for sorrow,

Hunger of belly has no tomorrow”


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