I think about her, sometimes,
that girl whose feet never
left the sandy shores,
where the breeze is scented
with spices and jasmine.
Maybe she would have been content,
to lie under the palm trees,
writing stories in a language,
I can barely speak?
Or would she have become a doctor?
Fulfill the expectations
of her mother’s wish,
held in place by family ties,
that wavered and dissolved,
lost somewhere in 13,723 km.
I wonder about her,
this girl with my face,
who she would have been
if she had remained in that place.
© Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
Advertisements
