The windows churn the sunlight They provide only bleakness Every filtered thing is poisoned Every made thing is cursed

Here are the truths I state as verses Do they spark bewilderment?

The boxes were full of her clothes, They ate the jewelry that my mother never wore, They kept the torn sarees warm, But I didn't take them with me.

Without a body, leaving a space sounds unholy Without a body, possessions aren't possessions Anymore.

I left the boxes They are in the hall room On the piece of the floor where my mother was to turn into ash

How can I take the belongings away from a place That has carried her air?>