Our Marigold

I was in a golden attire
you, an invisible muslin cloak
I was there, slipping into a flower
you, poised between its folds

Speaking of marigold, and
drops of milk stuck
on its copper red petals

Speaking of sarees hosting
opulent colors, and
lamps holding managed fire

There it was
our season — of impatience
our day — rolling out of control
our golden night — reduced to reflections
there it were — lives awkwardly touching each other

The glass lamps fell
The fresh grass caught fire
The invisible cloak went up in flames —
Then, a golden light, burnt bright
in our fallen marigold

Mum’s Yellow Gown

She had a yellow gown 
that grew holes for roses 
It turned mustard, then gray 

She walked to the grocery store
in her gown 
bought bread on discount 
and thought ‘butter, some other day 

The day my child would 
buy me another yellow
just like this, but newʼ

All her dead children in a basket
All her dead dreams in her frizzled hair 
All her dead husbands under the bed 
All her unborn yellows in shops, unknown 

Her blue slippers, hardly any sole 
Her folded skin, hardly any stories to tell 
Her yellow gown, barely keeping her in 
Her yellow teeth, barely held in her gums 

She never took trains, my mum 
It was for oneʼs with weak legs
— oneʼs who couldnʼt walk 
She never ate in a big plate, my mum 
It was for those who couldnʼt pile up leftovers 
— eat it all at once 

My mother, she had cobwebs in her soul
She had puffy warts, in clusters 
where her desires were trapped 
She had children and husbands alright 
but cut from the same see-through cloth 

All of them, were certain she could live 
(happily) in her yellow gown, that needed
no mending. Cloth 
runs longer than a human life after-all 

Of course, she liked bread with no butter 
And trains were for people who couldnʼt walk 
Dreams arenʼt for people who 
have to tire their legs so much — are they, my dear? 

Her single pillow, with a yellow pillow case 
on its cover, cross-stitched a tiny parakeet 
That is how she flew 
in her yellow feathers, at the end