A postscript...

The rain with torrents came so fast
That got wet within a few minutes...
Unwillingly got stopped just
Where in a rundown shelter did sit
A drooping old woman...cobwebed...
'Come here boy! You're drenched!'
she said...

Went to the shelter... hurried feet mine
A small candle with overwhelming dark did shine...
'You're wet...want to drink a cup of tea?'
She asked as if she for ages knew me...
I smiled grateful...

The old woman...
from a silver pan
Poured neat brown liquid
Into a glass quite quick
Though her hand always shook
And when the liquid I took
Felt warmth in it
By the generosity lit...

Took out a fag half wet
From her chulla by fire it set
And took a long puff...
The old woman probably coughed...
'Are you ill?' asked me
In her my lost mother I did see...
She looked up wrinkled face
Saw poverty had left marks of stress...
Upon her...every way possibly
Looked at her through the smoke from the glass of tea...

'Illness?' she laughed
'How would you that know?'
She asked next twisting her brow...

I said nothing
Looking away to the rain just heaved a sigh...
Thought how rain with that old lady me temporarily tied...

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