Agni*

Everything falls off
grains of sand from my shoes
picked from the terrains I tread.

The fire you birthed in me
two fingers below my navel
a fist under the skin.

Warm glow like a thread
you pass from your mother
and I to my son.

I want to tell you
this: that
I have remained thirsty.

Hundred years of parched earth
furrows crumble into me
raked with darba grass

looped in his finger.
He consigns me to the fire
that I leave in him.

*Agni, in Indian languages, means fire.

 

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