Third culture experience, immigrant stride,
a ‘Bachpan’ spent in limerence from afar,
memories of you mixed with stories of pride,
an inheritance of fatherly love beyond par.
But what of those hurtful early days of reunion,
the tears plentiful, the shock of your beautiful flaws,
your stubborn refusal to colour me in ‘desi’ communion,
my obstinate love for you though, refuses to pause.
Your dusty streets and crowded embrace,
your monsoon tantrums, your furious summer noon,
unabashed peacocking, of fear not a trace,
despite crater scars you remain my admired moon.
After all nurtured as you have been all along,
by the blood of warriors and the proud tears,
of daughters sacrificing paternal arms, being strong,
a sacrificial life unfathomable by their peers.
No matter where the winds of life wash me away,
this love for you shall endure every tempestuous phase,
running through my veins and my consciousness’ play
like quantum particles entangled across space.
May my breath be the wind, making your Tiranga dance
may my life be a testimony of my admiration true,
love like madness yet love like a meditative trance,
love of a heart that grew up, learning to beat only for you.
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