All over.
On a sun-kissed
Month of May.
I'll meet you again.
At a road that
Outgrows all the
Bends,
I'll hold your hand
And walk you to
A place, where
I grew as a child.
Where time is
On its knees.
Where mangoes
Still grow in trees.
There's a house,
My Grandpa lives
Still.
He might not be
Expecting me.
But he'll not be
Surprised to
See you as well.
Maybe he'll
Ask grandma to
Make you feel at home.
Cook you her
Signature cashew dish.
And tell you an
Old story that
I've forgotten.
I'm sure she'll
Tell you about how
Her hens lay egg.
The grafts on
Guava plants and
The thickness of
Milk her buffaloes
Offer.
She'll insist on
Giving you oil bath.
And as she applies
Oil to your hair.
I'll steal your shy-gaze
To confide our love,
To that moment.
It'll be safe there.
Maybe years later,
Verge of our story
Will be heard as
Folklore.
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