Through the fabric of time I often peek into memories Scented by marigold Colored by the vivid geru Maroon like Lakshmi's footprints When she walks silently As my mother lights her diya Chants her name Almost like a fever dream. Her fervent breath syncs with the taal of her words, And in those moments My mother shines brighter than the moonless night. The hushed golden October Strangled by the warmth of diyas Mimics the divine golden glittering goddess Followed by ghouls hiding in plain...