Remembering my mother, my mother land

It was a chilly morning

On the street of delusion

Among the countless faces

Faces… stranger to me

I felt, I was all alone

I reached out for the pocket

Pocket of my overcoat

And therein lied safely

A dibbi of kumkum

And a piece of bangle

I felt a drop of moisture

Rolling down my cheek

Overlapped by diffused images

Images of days bygone

And of my mother, my motherland

With my hands holding her pallu

I used to roam around

From one place to another

And often… I played with her hairs

And her bunch of keys

And when the approaching night

Brought slumber to my eyes

I used to lie on her laps

Trying to hear the Lori

Greek to me, yet sweet

I grew up hearing the tales

Of Ram and Ravana

Of Bapu and Gautama

Of India, my motherland

Where spirits are free forever

I wiped the tears from my eyes

When someone patted my back

I turned around and there she was

Calling me back

Back to my motherland