The day arrives with its pretty might, <br />Romps around like a pampered queen, <br />Taps running, women praying, children crying, <br />Land tilling, the light in my house filling <br />Should i tell you about these or the unfolded sheets? <br />The colours of the wet clothes hung to dry <br />How they sway ever so slow, or about the <br />Broken black handle of my pot, or shall I tell you <br />About the chilly that eagerly got into my eyes, <br />Then the tears that spilled in all different sizes, <br />And the remedy my maid began to advice <br />The breakfast that slipped <br />A bowl of milk, cornflakes in the hall <br />The delighted pup that licked it all <br />Or should I tell you how <br />When in hurry I told the flowers <br />About you today they turned their head in delight, <br />They, the scents in the turmeric and the whites in the marble <br />Your praise they did despise, <br />The little girl around the corner selling flowers, <br />She smiled at me knowingly, what about her? <br />As the day slowly leaves yawning into the twilight, <br />It is not the day I dread but the longing night <br />With my sleepy eyes rubbed and the kajal smudged <br />Unkempt hair falling on the drooping shoulder, <br />The rumbling house now quite and in these hours, <br />I look for you, my incoherent muse, my comfort <br />Lap to lay my bleary head on and found none <br />And this long, shredded, rainless night only just begun <br />All this and a little more, what shall I tell you?<br /><br />Reshma Ramesh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-shall-i-tell-you-2/
