The fireflies in your eyes call out to mornings
lazy under a quilt of gossamer messages on your face,
brown with thumbprints of yesterday
disrobed, memories going–
wrinkles taut with tales that annoy you
I live with your embers, your fumes,
fame, your shame, fried carp, steamed rice,
your lies and the bottled fireflies—
I want to set them free, then you steal a glance
but that doesn’t make you a thief.
Your eyes seek their flight, their night
careen past your dreams in gibberish,
you walk past your life, your day,
in your sleep, seek yellow sapphire in a ring
for me to tame Jupiter, in 12karats,
on my right hand and on the left
I wear the family name on my ring finger
but that you found too foreign Ma
I didn’t care for rings, you did
I wanted myths, fables
I wanted trust, if you must
know what I wanted Ma
Your mine is yours, your years are mine,
The sarees are yours, your fears are mine,
your feelings are yours, your Arnica 30 is mine,
your recipes, coasters, tempering, your smells are mine
All mornings and nights are yours
but the timings are mine
Must you choose to live longer than your life?
You stole a life or two but that doesn’t make you a thief Ma.
