Chinnu, before you taught me to love

I was to teach you the ways of this world 

How does one conjure jungles and jinns,  

When to let rainbows pour onto lilac walls

Where can you skip, hop and land in moody monsoon’s muddy puddles 

Who to cling on to when bubbles, balloons, all the bells and all the balls are gone 

Why do stars twinkle and not ceiling lights, 

Which sand knob on the beach turns the snow-white sliver moon on

I look up all night for the best ways to 

teach, Google, YouTube, Gurus, Gods,

But no books

No books taught me how to braid 

peacock feathers, yards of jasmines, into tender coconut fronds, 

And Siri paints a myriad pandemics 

on a mute pink rash on your freckled arm

Strangers, and their dangerous gaits, Mothers say, I should 

teach you of the world at large;

But for one more day, another hour, dear daughter, 

Here, learn to hold my hand and reach for the ocean waves in those monsoon puddles 

Learn, if you must that before thunder, there is light

And that after darkness, there is always light 

Before you leave me empty hearted

Drained and spent, here 

and now there is so much 

to learn, so much to teach, so many

earthen lamps to light 

(As posted to a Facebook poetry group Singpowrimo)