I wonder how mother kept
Count of Time
Her daybreak meandered into the dusk
And the night took her unawares.
Her mornings were chunks of fast paced time
While she scurried around the house
Packing food for all people
Who had Work- outside, elsewhere.
Home was only a nondescript place
Without work.
When the afternoon rose high up
Against the blue sky, the clothes
Washed and starched would fly
In the clothesline.
Evening was a glad phase
All at the table with their data
Of all important tasks accomplished.
Her chores lay quiet, invisible
In the dark corners of the house
Or may be her heart!
And everydayness swallowed her days
Day after day, night after night
And didn’t she feel hungry, or tired or bored?
I wonder-
In my novel quarantined life.
