Untitled Grief


I can remember:
No, not one of us
wore white.
Side by side, mama did wear white –
When daddy died.
Unmistakably, mama’s body dissolved
In undying sorrow –
Breathing in her own gloom.


When mama died,
I didn’t wear white.
A God who sent me grief,
Dwelt upon its invincibility as one
With no colours.
I understand the commandment –
Withdrawing from all colours:
When mama died.





Geeta Chhabra


From the book: Smash My Glass by Geeta Chhabra.

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