There, she put out those clothes to dry again,
Been washing, drying, repeating; since last years, so many.
Oh! How do I tell her, don’t waste time; its futile,
But would she believe, ever a word of mine?
Others tried, they gave up; I’m too on the verge of it,
Pains though to see this routine of hers; so often, a repeat.
Will she ever accept, her martyred son whose clothes they are,
Is alive no more; who would return never?!
This post is for Magpie Tales 252
Copyright 2015 © Nandini Deka