my languages are laced fingers, and i will not open my fist

written for social theory, sem6

every morning, my dresser is decked 
with four different tongues that will adorn my day - 
they make their homes in 
colours and 
        smells and 
              textures and 
                      sounds all
folded safely - different, but together.
a symphony of chaos - 
a riot of flavours on an empty street,
my tongues are joyous and complete.

my language dances in reckless abandon
across microphone buzzes, 
traipsing down stage wires,
all but rebellious -
made of chain mail links,
half-soaked in all colours of inks 

रण नो मिट्ठू
pink bandhni sunsets, 
awaiting silver shards of moonlit sands


पोळी चा ळ 
soft lullabies from within the heart of my home, 
a call to bed


हिंदी-उर्दू की बहर
fierce and passionate gulps of art, 
wooing all those who touch it

lives lived in verse
reminders that centuries can settle down 
and coexist, 
if only you ask gently

my language dances in reckless abandon 
taking to heart when told 
that the world is my stage, 
like paints flowing out of a cage 
she spills onto blank canvas 
to the rhythm of four tongues - 
uncertain, 
     defined,
            redefined, 
                 ever-changing.