Tinderbox

An explosive situation, one that can turn violent very quickly.

I

The kitchen is warm with asafoetida and fenugreek

and your memories of you plopping ghee in rice and dal.

You apprised me of your husband’s love for ghee puddled on the rice heap.

II

The corridor is immersed in fragrance and melody 

of your deity’s psalm and Amogha incense.

You drummed into my head,

the everyday ritual of intoxication.

III

In my early twenties

I am cold,

but

my mustard coloured saree resonates with the warmth of spices.

I ne’er liked ghee puddle on the rice heap.

My white chiffon saree loves the

embrace of this

hysterical corridor,

and the endless echo of your deity’s psalm

deemed to be a panacea.

The incense ne’er appealed to my chemosensory system.

IV

This is a home that isn’t mine

Some things are running in my bloodstream like poison

Ignorance

Abuse

Apathy

Hate

Bias,

and something is fighting against the poison

in my body

Awareness

Applause

Compassion

Love and

Reason.

V

Here I am,

standing at the crossroads,

struggling to let go of my DNA, mum.