Grandmother: A Prose Poem

Bony fingers poked through grains of rice one by one picking stones smooth like hardened snot, moved one bead after another, feeling the smoothness between fingers, name of god in the chest framed by fleeting luminescence.

She threaded a day to another,
placed the heap as offering
before assuming a dying posture.


2 thoughts on “Grandmother: A Prose Poem

  1. So many grandmas we know, which one have u written about? The grandma in nungambakkam house who served such exquisite mour’n’jaadam with lemon pickle to a group of hungry cousins who blew the whistle from the back door every time a bus stopped at the nungambakkam bus stop? Or the grandma who took us to kapaleeswarar temple surrounded by the mullaipoo, jackfruit n cycle rickshaws, or te grandma who had analysed the cause and effects of Ramayana and mahabharatha and revealed those secrets while we served food or cleared up the place doing ‘echhil’? Or ….

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