on mother’s dupatta there is
the faltering poetry of her days, inscribed
in turmeric shades of deep yellow
in orange shades of sinking skies
on mother’s dupatta there is
the stumbling poetry of her day, folded
into the creases of her cloth
poetry that is fragrant with
the strong scent of garden herbs
on mother’s dupatta there is
the flowing poetry of her day, pouring
from the tears in her cloth
like starlight that drops into
the open-mouths of oil lamps
on Diwali nights
on mother’s dupatta there is
the heavy-hearted poetry of her day, clinging
like the night sky pressing
against the windows
where a star squeaks against the glass
of a lonely, February night
on mother’s dupatta there is
the multilayered poetry of her day. crumpled
into the cotton of her cloth
is a lotus of bruised moments
the light pink merging with
the crimson of her wedding days
entangled within the embroidery of which lies
the scarred cheeks of the gibbous moon
on mother’s dupatta there is
the pulsating poetry of childhood days, stained
with the scarlet hues
of the betel seller’s words
as it flickers, like a candle flame
and a struggling rainbow, an icon of something
that dares to call itself
a dream
Praniti Gulyani is a sixteen year old author. Her book Sixteen Drops of Ink was published by The Impish Lass Publishing House in August 2020. She lives by the lines that really inspire her: "I will continue to write till my heart is devoid of all emotion and ideas, and still continue to write even after that, because writing is not a part of what I do, a part of who I am."