The poetess

I met her in the clinic,a woman in her fifties ,
Wrapped in a green sari sprinkled with flowers
She sat smiling on the wooden stool
She described her many ailments
She sounded like a songstress not a patient
Surprised, I probed her style of narration
She exclaimed in glee she was a poetess, who wrote and sang
She said she had a bundle of songs to sing
And I blurted"Lets meet in leisure and sing me your many songs."

As I napped in my tiny hospital room a noon,
A knock at my door announced she is here the poetess,
I woke to find her waiting in the green saree with flowers
She told me of her saga, of how she was here
To a town by the river a holy town of gods
She wove her story the story of her life,
She sang her song of life as I sat, and listened.

She had a house, and a husband and children she said,
Her town is not far from where we were she said,
She spoke of sons who were tall and handsome
Who had been born and reared with love,
She had a good life ,she was prudent and had saved.
The circle of life moved on, the sons grew and they married,
They had children and she danced with joy,
Life was beautiful she was singing and writing her poems.

One day,her husband slept, never to be woken again,
Never had she of this dream, she was but very stunned
She reasoned but found no reason, why the tragedy stuck,
Yet, she told herself such was life and she had to move on,
Her heart spoke of her children and their children,
That, she must live on to write more songs.

In her quest for new happiness she had ignored the new looks around
Her sons looked at her with disdain ,their wives almost sneered
She was confused at the change,
She was confused and asked them why,
In many words they said,
"We want your property and money,
This house you built is now ours ,
Give us everything and be gone
You are too old to enjoy life in anyways."

Shocked and hurt she cried and, cried
The sons she could not recognize no more,
A night very dark she said to herself," I shall leave",
She bundled a pair of saree and she walked,
To the holy town by the river,to the town of gods,
She lived now in the town in an ashram with abandoned others,
She filled her days making papapadams and selling flowers,
She said she was singing again, and she still dreamt,
Dreamt of words and songs,of a way to reach her poems to the world.