I write many songs,
unheard by you, Mother;
But the first drops of milk
that blessed my throat

has led my spirit in song –
With my vagabond
thoughts and exiled verse,
I roam the earth…

Where do I begin?
Where do I end?
I know not – I carry my
verse in a saffron pot….

Mother, you taught me
Mira, Chauhan, Prasad and
Verma - their metaphors
bleed into my heart…

They translate themselves
into an alien tongue and
drown my verse in
magic realism…

You live in my dreams,
Mother - your temple spires
tower in my thoughts, their
vespers ring in my ears…

I am a strange being now,
Mother; with the fire of
Vedas burning my soul,
the ice of English verse

cooling my ardour, I step out
in style, my jewelled conceits
ringing autumn requiems,
resplendent in Shakuntala’s
spangled dreams…

Mira, Chauhan, Prasad and Verma- Hindi poets – Mirabai, Subhadra Kumari Chauhan, Jayasankar Prasad and Mahadevi Verma
Vedas – Indian Scriptures
Shakuntala – heroine of Kalidasa’s Sanskrit epic – Abhignanashakuntalam