Aged

By Shreya

Poised and elegant

A saree draped

Against her wrinkles

So sharp

It catches my eye

A pin dangles from her hair

Jet black, almost too black

At roots I can see the whites

I am reminded

you’re not supposed to put color there.

Her flesh has caved

Bones so visible

The fragrance she carries

Is of roses and oranges

Mysteriously, they go well.

She sits besides me

Waiting for the same bus

She traces her feet

Absentmindedly

Along the tiled road, 

Again and again

If she misses

She restarts

Bus is here, I sit down

She’s still busy tracing

When I’m about to leave

She looks up

Puts out her tongue 

Like a child

She missed the bus.

By Shreya