aur

neem neem

green green

I n d i a

falls from the folds

of my mother's sari

like basmati.

nena

follow terra cotta paths

like roads I drew on the back

of your palms

years ago, himalayan

edge.

maps past

rust locks, iron rot

jacaranda trees , neem

leaves, heel

to sand

heel to sand.

Never compromise

root constellations.

Black

black they will call you

until you are engulfed

now stuffed like pheasants

HALL OF ANTIQUITIES

the seed in your pocket

is for saving.

neem neem

green green

the seed in your pocket

is for saving.

A man once told me I was too passionate and so he built me into a walled garden like my mother and her mother and her mother till we never remembered the color blue. I dedicate this poem to my mom Suchitra Srinivasa.