Ammachan, I took the dust of your feet,
you inhaled the scent of my hair.
Fingering the tulasi plant of Rama Vilas
you stood quietly
while I flung stones at crows,
you stood,
leaves sprouting from your fingers,
while I read giddily, flinging my mind
in circles solipsistic
anotherworld,
from where I sometimes believe
I never returned.