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In my hazy dream

I always see Amma

strolling slowly at dawn

hair oiled with coconut

and braided with jasmine flowers.

A smile creeps across her face

as she feeds small birds that fly about her garden.

Crackled yellow bread crumbs fall from her

hands softly to the ground.

Where was she and where was I?



This is a dream on the edges of madness.

Oily stains on clothes perfumed with rose and ginger.

Layers of dried Mothi ke Phool

which Amma placed carefully between

folds of fabric in wooden drawers

until the scent permanently seeped into them.

Same color and texture of evening

bulbous gray clouds pregnant with rain.

Where was she and where was I?



This speaks of the Ones before me

who filled my infant cradle

with the bursting gray bundles of the past

stuffed with their disappointments and sorrow.

The dried bundles of the past

have been placed carefully

between the folds and layers of myself.

Where does She end and I begin?