Smile of a Poet’s Wife She sobs at the kitchen

She entered my life with reluctant
footsteps
but my grin never transformed;
She is a blessing, my homemaker,
to my otherwise void boat.

She sobs at the kitchen
yet gloom doesn’t seep into the spice of lamb curry
that lies stale on the table
surrounded by hungry, empty chairs.

when she sobs in the balcony, alone,
What does she think of?  I wonder.

Then she lets the clothes dry on our roof
and brings them back for  absentminded folds
in between antidepressants doses,
but I never saw her smile.

Gave her a rose for birthday this year-
a poem too in my best handwriting
she just stared

at me.

did I see expectation or gratitude there
dangling like two vertical swords between her brows?

If only she broke her silence with words
and not sighs
for sighs are as long as years
and crudely contagious too.

I wait for a home like the stack of bricks I pass by
every day, walking back home-
Loose, waiting to bond into a wall,
bond into a home.

Today…
Today
my wife smiled

to the TV
and it doesn’t matter what was on.

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