Sunday Poem By Pankhuri Sinha

On having rented a place to write

As in work
Only to be asked
At lunch, dinner
All meal times
About the meals
Remaining dishes
Just finished cleaning
Dusting as well
Dust, after so much
Grass and garden
Pollen infested dust
Coming in from the neighboring lands
Where the disaster has been
And still have the afternoon
Somewhat sunny
Sunny enough
Lit up enough
For words to be seen
Felt on paper
Her happiness
Pouring the original branded syrup
On welfare bread
Was made up
Of the remaining hours
Peaceful
In a rental accommodation
From where
There were
Multiple steps forward
All steps went forward
Went ahead
Till the man infront
Began to systematically
Do a backstep dance
Till the man infront
From her country
Came out and said
Lots of things
Mainly
That he was the landlord
And I, the rentor
That I had lost my owning status
That terrible things had happened to me
Just with playing with a ping pong ball
Exactly as I sat down
After the chores
For adultery related events
Had turned my house upside down
People had, had the balls to do it
And now, a simple game of ping pong
Or was it the tennis ball
On the door steps
So completely ruining
My beautiful afternoon
It should be a profound crime.