I.
I have fallen in love with
the mid-June evening skies, and
It's volatile shades of grey
Like a temperamental canvas of inky blacks
And blotted blues, lines of translucent paint drizzle down
From the canopy of clouds, marred and bruised.

II.
Lovers separated by atmospheres and seasons,
A torrent of raindrops ravishes
It's earthen companion,
caressing the jagged scars across it's parched skin.
I have fallen in love with
The heady scent that permeates the humid air;
The love-child of storm and soil
Infused by the sweet, rich aromas
Of a 6pm cup of chai.

III.
I have fallen in love with
The rivulets of rainwater that
Trail silver maps across the ridges and contours of bottle green fronds;
And the dewy droplets that adorn the Gulmohars and Cassias that are strewn beside my bare feet;
Like a bejewelled carpet of scarlet and gold.

IV.
We are words
Ricocheting off one another,
Relief, catharsis and a safe space after a long day.
We are the comfortable silences, the content sighs,
And the barefaced truth
Between mother and daughter.
I have fallen in love with
The tapestry of words that we weave.

V.

I have fallen in love with
Coming home.

The last time I saw you,
I begged for
Stillness and silence
From the questions causing
Tremors in my head;
And for a split second,
They obliged.

After which they morphed from
The whimpers of a lovesick girl
Into an army of
Screaming and indignant women.
They flooded my mouth,
And clamoured against
The barricades that were my teeth
Held in a tight, fake smile.

I could feel my tongue
Straining to replicate the
Echoes of the questions
That had been seared onto
It's surface.

“What is this?”
“Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

I can't possibly let them out, can I?
So I chew, and swallow and
Chew
And
Swallow, and
Wince at its rancid acidity.

But they are relentless,
For I feel their sharp words
***** against the backs
Of my eyes.

They substituted tears,
And filled my eyes to the brim,
In the place of
A smile that never reached them.

I think you should
Acknowledge my tears now,
Its time I asked you a few questions.

If you were to peel back
The layers of my skin
For a peek of what lies beneath,
You would find a tangle of wild roots,
Dense, and untamed, and telling
The story of my home.

Knotting and merging, and
Twisting and looping,
An intricate lace spirals around
My bones, whispering tales from my childhood
And sprouting little flower buds that blossom across my skin,
Which you would see as the jagged lines of white stretch marks,
And the dull pink and caramel spots of scars if you observed my skin intently.

If you came close enough, and nuzzled your face against my neck,
You would be able hear the clamour of
My ancestry within the riotous halo of curls at my crown.
They bloom in tight ringlets from the roots atop my head,
And bellow battle songs
Of toothless combs and brushes.

If I were to hold your hand for long enough,
Maybe the roots that emerge from my fingertips would entwine intimately with those sprouting from yours.
If you were to hold me against your chest long enough,
Perhaps the lacy roots from my ribcage would entangle with those spiralling around yours,
So you'd be able to hear the murmurs of my memories,
And I, every old story told with every beat of your heart.

Hold me close,
And maybe you will find a corner within my untamed roots within which to stay.
Hold me close,
And maybe I'll find another home within your arms.