Mamta.

Your strained voice
cries out to me, like the sage sitar.
It sings a sobering song
that transports me through sand.

Suddenly, a memory of your
loving care becomes so real.

I watch, awestruck,
as you took my tears
then weaved them into cloth.
Embroidered with golden silks
you pulled from the fabric
of your heart.

We never had much,
but your patience had me convinced
you were the palace in which we lived.

I exhale—only the warmth of love
and adoration escapes from my lungs;
in you, we have the stars.

Despite the struggle,
we only ever tasted the sweet saffron
you skillfully slipped into our souls.

Shalimar is in you;
my mother IS a Taj Mahal.
Her every breath's a nectar;
it is cardamom's caress.

I would reanimate a hundred thousand times
just to relive the splendour of her shadow;
it was the sunrise of my lifetime.

I would relive every sadness behind my eyes
just to breathe the soothing citrus-scented air
of her orange grove.

I have never come so close to saintliness,
and I can soundly say
my spirit has never been the same.

Three. Sixty. Five.

I -

Bones rattled and teeth chattered, 

like unwanted shrapnel from some unsavoury stew. 

Smiling whilst administering lethal injections 

that painted both our lips blue—

even Gestapo couldn't be callous like you.

II -

Cleansing rain falls from clouds 

onto my caterwauling heart, 

rescuing it from the extreme state 

where its mouth was blistered and parched. 

Today—I have been granted a fresh start.

III - 

Ablaze again; amazed, by the ways 

I have evolved into a better man. 

Not terracotta delicate but rather, 

resilient as rock. 

Baked but bathing in the beat 

of brilliant song.

IV -

Recycle, reuse, reduce, then rinse, 

and finally repeat. 

The regrowth that left me reborn 

buried itself beneath the Beeches,

and below the streets; 

a cycle come full circle and complete.

V -

With little visibility, 

all I could do was brave whatever lie ahead. 

When all falls down and failure reigns, 

remember even yeast rises again 

it can blossom into bread.

VI -

In the aftermath of my desperation—

once my sorrow's streams dried up like the Sahara. 

I wouldn't resign myself to monochrome. 

I could not surrender to Sepia! 

I opted to explode with vibrancy instead; 

raging reds, orange opulence, 

and you'll-never-forget-me yellows.

Equanimity.

Like the fog protects the sky,
I held you close, with watchful eye.
Incapable of enduring another loss,
as trees mourn leaves slain by the frost.

On bended knee, I gave myself to thee,
only canines know such loyalty.
Like petals perspiring with dew,
there can be no me without you, too.

So, I just dance like second hands,
that measure time, in all the land.
I am the key—you are my lock;
like lyrics in our lover's rock.

Us.

You and I were like Alexander and Genghis Khan—we conquered the entire world;
In your arms I was the oyster,
who proudly displayed his very first pearl.

You and I were giants—no match for Jack and his pitiful magic beans.
I gazed lovingly into your eyes; you were the golden goose of my dreams

You and I were Dostoesvky,
Dickensian when we talked.
But soon enough, we stopped listening,
and all we ever did was fought.

Remember when I was Shah Jahan
and I built you the Taj Mahal?
Your eyes despised it, soon enough,
and you demanded I add another wall.

Do you recall the times I tried to redeem myself with jasmine scented words?
Pretty soon all you did was chastise me
with your acid speech that burned.

You and I could've reached the top of Everest, but all you did was tear down my Great Wall.
I wanted you to be my empress, but you just wanted to watch my empire fall.

Now I am lost for words—my lips have been sealed and then sewn shut;
I just wish we could go back to you and I, instead of left questioning what is what.