Women Wordsmiths And Christmas By Santosh Bakaya

A fragrant Sliver

There she hunches near the open hearth
canopied by a shady tree,
blowing into a pair of bellows,
shooting fiery reprimands
at tiny frolicsome, and frowzy fellows,
their bloated stomachs wobbling
with the intensity of their glee,
who pay no heed to the restraining orders of their mother.
Slowly she hums a long forgotten song,
which she used to sing long, long ago
in her pocket-sized lawn in her tiny hamlet,
before she came to this mad city,
losing all her spunk,
all he vitality.
A fragrant sliver of golden ray
perches itself on the branch of the tree,
loses its balance and slips,
its golden tip lightly touching her parched lips.
A winter wizard, gets ready to don a red and white costume,
clears his throat, practices his ho- ho- hos,
touches and retouches his headgear
and gets set to go on his annual mission.

The drop of golden sun tickles the woman
into happy remembrance, and she smiles.
The golden sunray has succeeded in its mission
and it sparkles triumphantly.

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