The woman.

The woman.


The women with spects,
knitting wool in an winter afternoon.
Her hands are shaking.
She will be seventy very soon.

She came to this house,
fifty springs before.
Then the house was only one storey,
with single outdoor.

Now she is living in a three storey building
with her other family members.
But she is living in seculation
with her old memories.

Few years back her husband left her.
Her strength is ebbing away.
Her eye sights are also feeble.
Now she is waiting to dissolve into earth forever.