change : Saima Afreen


The bucket swallows sweaters, a ball of yarn

that bloomed in a mother’s lap, ripe,

plum-like it dropped from her sari

tumbling towards the kitchen sink

full of colours, sparkling, bright,

the day white, spills and swallows

leaves near the doorstep, a few of her

tears, run across her broken cheeks.

The balance of dry and wet seasons.

~Saima Afreen