Change
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
Nehal's World : Growing Time…in Words! 