User Review( votes)
written by: Kushal Poddar
Mom lost her suitcase in the rain
on the platform seven
before she rode her absent mind to her home.
Mom lost my gifts to her- two dresses.
My wife gave her stones and nail polishes.
she lost her clothes- the kind
one carries to impress a new daughter-in-law.
Over the phone, we comforted mom,
easier than losing anything.
At night my wife woke me up. We took pills.
The suitcase would wait on the platform
for hours, and a rumor would follow.
A man in uniform would arrive
with a sniffing dog and a general sense of panic.
Opening the case the cop would think of his wife
and the gifts he wanted to give.
With a sigh, he wouldn’t steal anything from the case.
In the lost-luggage, the case would
battle with the rats and fade
before in a blind auction some treasure hunter
would purchase all it might encase for a tenner.
He would love those dresses, lift them
in the light when every thread
would crumble into ashes.