The old woman kept her glasses beside her bed,on the bedside table..
As she closed the book,book whose words she cannot understand..
It was the book gifted to her by her beloved,who was a foreign man...
And she an illiterate village woman..
She watched her sisters, cousins,brothers, friends marry,some in love,some with arrangment of elders..
Yet she still sat alone,on that lonely courtyard of hers,sometimes looking far away...
In the evening she would light a lamp,asking the whoever one it was, listening,about the news of her lover,
Whose name she didnot know..
Sometimes the children of her village would ask her,grandma,who are you looking for,when you look at the sky..
The old lady would smile and say,I am looking for a bird that flew away...
And again she would pick up the dirty yellowed books and look through it,with as much longing as she had,
When she was sixteen...
