Mother don’t please Don’t cut off the sunlight with your saree spread across sky blanching life’s green leaves. say: You’re seventeen already flash sari in street make eyes at passers-by be a tomboy riding winds. play that tune again That mother her mother and had played on snake-charmer’s flute into ears of nitwits like me. I’m just spreading my hood. I’ll sink fangs someone lose venom. Let go way. Circumambulating holy plant yard making rangoli designs to see heaven turning up dead without light air