In my childhood every evening when
The moon came someone on his shoulders
Made me sit to beckon to the moon to come
To sit with us in our mud house on the flat
Earthen floor lighted in a very dim way
By our kerosene lamps and eat the cake
My mother with love would make for me
With rice powder and coconut paste.
The moon in its own smiling mood would
Play hide and seek with me with clouds
Covering it and now and then freeing it
For me to end my cries and tears and
Kicking in anger the shoulders that
Relentlessly supported me for the time
My mother prepared food when others
Were busy summing up the accounts
Of the daily family chores before dinner.
