A Rumination
With ginger chai, lounged in the balcony,
Revisiting the years she and her spouse
Endeavoured for a better, self-owned house,
She takes a breath of content, finally.
But why is there no lustre in her eyes?
Nostalgia? This cannot be the case,
For she bears sour memories of that place
That served her naught but times of heavy sighs.
It’s guilt, perhaps, for being insensate
To those cracked tiles that helped her toddlers’ feet
Or chipped walls that, in frost, preserved some heat;
It’s guilt, perhaps, for cussing these inanimate
Friends (just as flawed as man) who kept them warm
Like selfless trees that house birds in a storm.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. When he is not writing, he can be found strolling the hills surrounding his homestead. His poems have appeared in Fevers of the Mind, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Westward Quarterly, among others.