She walks in,
The well lit living room,
A beautiful haven!
A sofa to sink in to, after a hard days work.
The rumble in her stomach,
Pushing her towards the designer kitchen..
She picks it without thought, the dinner menu,
The comforting taste of simplicity.
As the oil sizzles and the dal begins to boil,
She looks for the seasoning-
The sambhar powder,
Packed tight in an unopened box.
Tiny particles escape as the scissors liberate them,
And hop into the unsuspecting eye..
The tears begin to flow,
The minor irritants,
Triggering a memory..
Tears left unshed,
For the stock that once was,
The stock of a well used and chipped kitchen.
Smells that embraced her everyday,
In the same body..
Buried and gone, definitely for good,
But the scratch on the scar,
A reminder of a life, a lifetime away-
And still, just out of grasp.