Prathamam 2004

In your lap

Mother, let me rest my head in your lap
with all the cacophony and confusion within.
And when my head rests there,
let me feel your hand ruffling my hair gently
to sooth my thoughts that run helter-skelter
from one thing to another.

Your lap is my cradle, Mother.
It is small enough for me to find it
and large enough to hold me no matter
how big I get! There is no pillow as right,
nor any mattress as personally tailored.
In this cradle, my heart remembers its best dreams
one by one, and my body renews its ability
to chase after them.

Mother, anchored in your lap,
I can reach every star in the sky.
Isn’t that amazing? It is not
when I run or when I leap
or when I climb that ladder,
but when I rest my life in your lap,
that the sun, the moon and the stars
are within my grasp.

I play in your lap, secure and content.
I know that I will not fall from this perch,
and even when I get up and move away and
when I forget where your lap is—
I am still in your lap. Your child, ever.

And so I curl up in contentment,
my fingers twisting around a pleat of your saree
in that half-asleep, half-awake fashion.
When I reach you are there.
When I don’t reach out, you are still there.

I close my eyes, and in your lap,
I don’t shut out the world. It embraces me
and I delight in it as a child in its toys.

Your lap is my universe.

prathamam 2004