Tags: Nazar
Mama calls me wilted,
a flower bending inwards.
In other words,
depressed.
Nani calls it nazar.
A remedy, an illness.
Carried by all. Contagious.
Tightrope between keeping appearances
and keeping a distance.
“Nazar lagayi.”
It touched you.
Caressed your luck,
as you naively crossed its path.
His headaches.
Her skin.
The mangled car on the freeway.
A sari’s tear.
Why the business is sinking.
Why your hair is thinning.
So exude gratitude.
Threading a rosary through her fingers,
Nani prays the nazar away.
Secretly hoping my eyes won’t shine as bright,
my smile won’t be as wide,
my laugh will soften,
my walk heavy.