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Two poems by Ajay Koyimuttal


Y. G. Srimati | Woman with Lotus
Y. G. Srimati's Woman with Lotus

Kaudi, The blanket


In her last years, Nani spent

All her time stitching Kaudi.

She did tens of them and gave

Them away to her loved ones.


She would gather all the

Old clothes, cut them up,

Stitch them in patches on

Stretch of old sarees.


These blankets she stitched

So meticulously, almost

Every hour of every day,

Looked like her biography.


All the childhood memories,

Scattered in the red patches.

Her teenage days in the

Checkered yellow ones..


In the glittery embroidery

On the borders.

Maybe about her first love

Or a crush if there was one.


I got the last one of

Her final work.


One of the nights,

The green patches in mine,

Told me all about the raw guavas

In her father's backyard.


Now that I keep thinking

About those violate, brown

And the pink patches that

Haven't yet talked..


Maybe that's where the rest

Of the world's libraries hide.



Tired Fragrances


The wafted smell of jasmines,

While he passed the street yesterday.

Took him to the days when

His mother still fancied them

In her braid.


It seems like an era has

Passed now.


How his father brought them

To her from the local markets.

How even she herself,

Stood arguing with hawkers,

For an extra inch of the wreath..


Now she doesn't wear any.


When his father passed away

And in what forsaken book

It must have been etched,

About the husband-less women,

And the flowers she fancies.


And if the natural order is just

Beauty and desire are

The true measure of existence..


Then in every market,

In the every hawker's wickers,

A handful of Jasmine,

That were ought to be in a

Mother's braid... Wither in

Tired fragrances...


And in all glory as they

Waft past the noses of all the

Over-aged sons, they slap them

Awake to the loneliness of their-


Widowed mothers.

 

Ajay Koyimuttal


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