A heart shaped leaf
My sister finds a heart-shaped leaf,
Stops mid-step while walking our dog,
Giggles and calls out, “Gaffu, look, look!”
I, like ruthless scurry of winds
Ask her what it’s all about.
She holds it up,
I see,
Huff,
And walk along.
My sister sees the world in colors
I haven’t yet learned the shades of.
She calls blue “teal blue,”
While for me, blue is the color
Of an unknown wound that aches
She says, “Gaffu, there’s no easy choice,”
Then walks ahead, a grin on her face.
I follow, a lost cat
We wander differently through the world.
When she says she’s in pain, she means it.
While I,
Have spent years
Doing poetic justice to what I felt
Years ago
The leaf rests still on a small, round rock.
Its shape lingers in my mind,
Wrapped in shades of old, burnt yellow.
And my sister--
I remember to tell her, often,
That the colors she pours into this world
Are her own.
The leaf doesn’t know what my sister knows.
It doesn’t know its shape,
A heart lying quietly in the plain grass.
It doesn’t simply succumb to its deformity.
Is this what it means to be brave?
Bharti is a poet from India.
My sister finds a heart-shaped leaf,
Stops mid-step while walking our dog,
Giggles and calls out, “Gaffu, look, look!”
I, like ruthless scurry of winds
Ask her what it’s all about.
She holds it up,
I see,
Huff,
And walk along.
My sister sees the world in colors
I haven’t yet learned the shades of.
She calls blue “teal blue,”
While for me, blue is the color
Of an unknown wound that aches
She says, “Gaffu, there’s no easy choice,”
Then walks ahead, a grin on her face.
I follow, a lost cat
We wander differently through the world.
When she says she’s in pain, she means it.
While I,
Have spent years
Doing poetic justice to what I felt
Years ago
The leaf rests still on a small, round rock.
Its shape lingers in my mind,
Wrapped in shades of old, burnt yellow.
And my sister--
I remember to tell her, often,
That the colors she pours into this world
Are her own.
The leaf doesn’t know what my sister knows.
It doesn’t know its shape,
A heart lying quietly in the plain grass.
It doesn’t simply succumb to its deformity.
Is this what it means to be brave?
Bharti is a poet from India.