A discarded cloth winks from a corner
awaiting the final shove to its fate.
In a few years it lost its sheen, hubris
whittled away by wear and tear.
It played host to its owner for a time
braving the nuances of vagabond weather –
rain, soaking heat or embalming chill.
It knew Time had nothing to reclaim.
Its owner, ever short of care or foresight,
was too besotted with his daily chores –
building a life out of the visible avenues.
No thought to spare for a cloth’s plight.
Its clever design or artful artwork is
a contrivance for only a passing notice.
A shred of beauty awaits its own twilight.
The owner’s day too awaits the hearse.
Its prankish wink was lost on the owner.
After all age is only a fading number.
About the contributor: K.S.Subramanian, India has published two volumes of poetry titled Ragpickers and Treading on Gnarled Sand through the Writers Workshop, Kolkata, India. His poem “Dreams” won the cash award in Asian Age, a daily published from New Delhi and other branches years ago. His short stories have appeared in Indian ruminations, Setu Magazine, Tuck magazine, Indian Review and Muse India. Also he is a retired Senior Asst. Editor from The Hindu.
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