‘Smell of the Quilt’

A maid worked for me.

She worked at night.

But for few months,

she worked during days, too.

She put an alluring

perfume all over her body,

her hands moisturized

with scent.

Her legs were immaculate,

and smelt like a girl.

She began to work

both days and nights,

breakfast to supper,

woke me up with

a cup of the cardamom tea

and slumbered me

with a glass of milk.

That was indeed

a good maid,

won’t the people

outside say?

The scent had me mesmerized.

And, I began to smell

her body like a dog.

My maid was a scented maid,

scent that pulls and, then

thwarts.

I allowed my maid

to share my quilt

and that scent

lasted a month.

That scent acted as

the medicine for the insomniac.

My sleep began

to call me upon

to that bed,

where laid the scented quilt.

People asked me

to keep the maid,

for no one could

work better than her,

a maid who

worshipped her employer.

At the end of the month,

the maid took no wage.

I felt, she had found

a home at my place.

I thought about

keeping her for the rest.

A few months after,

the maid suddenly

talked to me

about her wages.

She threw an abuse

at her master.

Asked me

to be grateful

for her night works

and, the scent

which helped

the insomniac.

A tiff began

and ended with

a volcanic tug of war.

My maid was affiliated

to the institution

of Overt Hypocrisy.

Finally, she told me

that it was for fun,

she worked at my place.

Else, there are many masters

alive to own her

at their homes.

The maid left my place,

I don’t know where

she works now.

I have thrown away

the quilt.

The scent

was there no longer.