Old Clothes

[There are more critics than defenders of 'Modern Poems'. It was my late realization that poems should be relatable, understandable, and written in easy language. I adore modern poems with all their imperfections, whether it's the lack of a strict structure, the lack of uniform rhythm, or lack of usage of complicated words.] 

In that village, 
in every home, 
there was a separate basket reserved for depositing old clothes;
a basket deliberately kept for throwing in their memories ;
the memories waiting for its abandonment along with the old clothes.

In some homes, 
these old clothes were used for cleaning the mess in the kitchen or mess created by children. 
In some homes, 
these old clothes were not even seen as worthy of any use. 
In some homes, 
these old clothes were considered an extra burden or a waste of space. 
From some homes, 
the residents sent these old clothes to an orphanage. 
From some homes, 
the members abandoned these old clothes in public places and ran away. 

But some years before, 
these old clothes were not old enough;
they were in shape and elegant, 
so, the homes gave special respect and value to them. 

Some years before, 
these clothes decided the pulse of all other members at home. 
But once their colors started fading away, 
their texture started contracting, 
the stitching started to tear away, 
the homies felt these old clothes were no longer aesthetically pleasing; 
and the homies felt these old clothes were not useful anymore. 
oh poor, contracted pupil of their eyes!

It was then, 
in some homes, 
the people started abandoning these old clothes in temples, mosques, churches, gurdwaras, or any other crowded places they felt convenient to leave them. 
But the new clothes never realized that they would also be abandoned one day; 
they never accepted that their shape, texture, elegance, and colors would also fade away one day. 

- Now, please re-read this poem again by replacing the word 'old clothes' with 'grandparents'. Thank you!

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