from the same morning enroute Delhi to Agra…in search of an ancestry as good as dead.
before becoming
remember, love? the
taste
of a young winter morning
before becoming [remembering]
sifting through strangeness
of gold weighted air
through
cotton webs of memory-
crisscrossing through power lines
my
long walks to the convent, I
carved
forgotten trails through foothills
little feet swayed by giant imaginings
mist on my tongue
it, seeps through my
hungry pores and, now
cleanses
simply beautiful
Beautiful indeed.