grandmother

in her regular visit

 

i was cleaning my almirah one day.

dozens of soap covers,

in  different fragrances, colours, and fonts,

gushed from the folded cloths,

like flying termites before the rains.

beside my olive green t-shirt

lies a tiny sheaf of dried kozhunth,

tied with a yellow rubber band.

 

a sudden blow of loneliness struck me.

i cried.

i cried.

i cried like a helpless child

watching her best friend drowning.