Monday, March 16, 2015

you smoothened the creased map with your forearm,
while I blew at my tea
and watched
your finger trace the coastline
from Mercara
along the blue Arabian sea
it stopped for a moment
at Cannanore
and then traced the paddy fields
all along
to the wooden granaries in old homes,
where memories and grannies jostle by the side,


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