When shadow commences to die in the body,
When termites reveal creation,
When symbols scuffle with rain,
When the sea quaffed by father swallows the daughter,
When a sweat, in the name of spring, divide the doors of lifespan,
When snail manifest as a leaf of wisdom,
That is when each forest is baptized....
Yashodhara, Oormila, Magdaline, Amina, Kasturba,
Anna, Alice, Sabeena, Mithra..that and this she...
Its not in search of shadow that sun decline to the forest depth.
Its not with awareness that birth delivers death.
Still it was on a starry day, that the baby was disserved from my palm.
As the leaves spoke to the root,
As the wind grew eagerly to the clouds,
I too was changing to a tribal mother...
When springs lactate on my breast,
thousand tribal gods cohere to my chest...
thousand seeds, thousand songs,
thousand coloured birds, thousand dancers, thousand lakes...
My children weave monsoon, valleys, hurricanes and sky with the earth...
They find love among stone reefs and shrubs...
They guide ants to walk in line to their self dug urbanism...
And I, filled my journey, in the tortoise shell that landed my shore and safeguard my daughter...
Even then, a senescent earthworm, under a baseless huge banyan tree, murmurs...
What would your daughter, who attained an untimely drought,
be doing now??
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