Like everyday, I walked up the street
Gazing at the little red post box,
And a lamp burning next to it!
I see an old lady coming up to the box
And spilling oil into the lamp
I see her everyday, she comes with oil
And a letter to post.
She’s old and grows more old everyday!
I ask her name, she tells it’s not important,
But she asks me to help her cross the road!
She walks back, down the street,
Takes a left and disappears into the traffic.
The raging flame of the lamp, blazing it’s light
Spreads it’s light to the pedestrians, immersed in their worldly pleasures and pain.
Sometimes, she mutters about something unusual
Which you’ve never heard,nor seen.
She’s serene, sometimes yells at the drivers across the street.
She complains,about the weather not being sunny enough!
Sometimes curses the postman for not delivering her posts!
And thinks her ducks in her poultry have been poisoned by her neighbour!
But she says,she still loves them.
She believes snow fall is awful,and rain drops are tiny packets of kisses sent from heaven to earth.
She has some innate weirdness!
Laughing at all the people,Mocking at their wearying
She cries sometimes too,and never tells me why!
But I surmise, it’s her problems which gets through her veins,which at times streams tears down her cheeks.
One evening, I see the lamp dying,
No one to spill the oil into that red burning flame!
I wondered about the old lady!
I saw a letter,lying down
Written to someone called God,a letter full of her pain, which that God never cared to reply to,
And I saw her being dragged in the streets,
With shackled ankles and cuffed wrists.
To an asylum deep down the stairs..…