A nest on a nose
never slides whole
twigs loosen like teeth one by one
but she carries hell
a matka on her head
rivering the urban decay on your way
blind drops seived
colour licks them where
them feet had been
fertile fingers are threads she weaves
around holes
'will red go with black?'
but i tell her black goes with red
everywhere too
(you) don't paint your old sarees green
quilt them curtains and cushion
covers
for clouds when will stumble
doors down
tired of sun and baggage of rusted wool
(when you fold and hope
i hope too)
i always see you in colours
like how rangoli sees walls and floor
the rangoli a ceiling you put
every morning
sky has reached roof because of you
and earth has left in search for a door.
26/12/20
