Aaie...My mother

When mother becomes daughter
and daughter, mother...
my thinking cap flies high up from my head
and comes back on my lap
with colours of shining sea,damp forest and rainy sky
with smells of rice,turmeric, oil,paper and chelpark ink
and some sound of my own bangles...

When mother becomes daughter
and daughter, mother...
I put my voice down into the glass of water
and the water goes down in me
with a speed of a heavy lump or may be an elephant
with sounds of caressing, flowing, cleaning and scrubbing
and some sound of my own song...

-ka