On these roads we walk
seamless paths from one to another
we do up, put on, dress up, take off
Never minding our cuts and creases
Till our brown veins become vain
And our muddied hands reach our faces.

My mother’s dress was beautiful
like stars
Iridescent pearls were carved,
fashioned into the fabric.
It was beautiful like dyed black
with shimmering tints.

But Now, We put up, give in, take apart and finally
break out
from those that dry our dreams
and put us into the cup of their amber hands.

I will not cry nor let my blood be your chai.
Even if the orange sun so bright scales every wall
The brown earth will never forget its scars
until its shadows become stars.