Meera Nair


Breasts that sag with milk not drunk

Little specks of white colored red

Silver stretch marks

Where once you slept


Your painting book lies open on the floor

And my hands empty of colors

How do I teach you black outlines and white insides

When all I can see are shades of grey


A half lit lamp

And your incoherent lines

How do I teach you those ancient chants

When my hands refuse to fold themselves in prayer


How dare I hold you close?

When the wild world beckons at your little feet


What do I give you my son?

When you have taken all