Don’t be scared of my bony arms

you look so worried about

the pale yellow of my dry dark eyes bulging out of

sunken sockets on

my fleshless tobacco-chewing face

She says

spilling guts out

glass bangles cascading

her laugh rumbling hail

mumbai monsoons

coiling the thickest darkest knee-length hair

into a loose bun,

stirring the sauce,

turning over the paraanthha

on the tava

rolling the next ball of dough

on the chakla

she holds my gaze with hers

a pledge she demands

softly

no riddles today

she laughs barely breathing

These wiry fingers can

hold your face

without cracking

when you feel

fatherless

motherless

loverless

childless

they will feed you

nourishing hot meals that calm your

anxious soul

your fight

my plight

Eat!

don’t feel guilty I feed you

with my belly stuck to my spine.

i will feed your

mother, too,

if she will let me

if she will

remember

me a Budhiya

in a sari, in a bindi

a dying body that lived

loved laughed hungered fed

not in this everyday attire

i wear for the world

fidelities demanded of me

acting

living

laboring

without compromising

Hansa, the Soul

processing

desires

un-possessing

attachments

dis-possessing

dreams

re-possessing

spirit

my own terms

kicking sacred books

claiming religion

namelessly

freely

abundantly

Hair bun waves

wrists roast

she smiles silently now

Closing my eyes

losing myself

singing Hansa

the Soul

again,

yet again.