Sometimes places unreckoned beckon us to mull over the paths of life

The other day, I entered the room to drop once splendid, now defunct stuff

It dawned upon me at a stroke

How identical life is to this disdained storeroom


Things with a glorious past are dumped, as they age

Those vibrant art pieces that once adorned walls and garnered umpteen accolades

Are now dying a silent death in the begrimed racks of this room

Reminding people and things that they all come with mortality embossed on them


Mushrooming cobweb dynasties, musty odour, moth-eaten velvets, rickety furniture, and home to a lot more

How benevolent and inclusive you are, dear storeroom!

No judgements, no denunciations

You embrace everything with arms widespread


Post the promising prime

As we tread into our sunset years

Our beauty that we took great pride in, decays

Sooner or later we would be pushing up daisies


So why can’t we make peace with those wrinkles, stretch marks and scars?

Why wage a war against them?

Why can’t we be unbiased and inclusive?

Why can’t we be the storeroom that embraces one and all?


Leela Satyan


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