நிலா நிலா ஓடிவா
Nila Nila, Odi Va
Moon Moon, come running.

Exhaustion has no chance
gnawing its body through
rental doors. Amma belongs
draped in sun that billows out

a welcome mat, feeds a family
of buds that speak only for her.
In wild waves they all want
but perfect the gift to give

her tending back in tenfold
so her hands have time to dream.
In fact, these blooms burst
every hand on every clock

because there is no such thing
as running out of time
in a life that is not a race.
Amma would never know

the isolating rage of a winter
coating her barely broken
in homeland. Bitterness left
behind her tongue would swallow

itself and leave her be
because she has places to dance.
And read. And play. And laugh. And
when the day is done, somehow

she still finds her way
to talk to the moon with me.