Unpoem#4: Untitled

grey fingers tracing hard down the ground's back
a dancing, snake-wound god holds a river close, as she finally
breathes in the smell of blue skin and
knows it to belong to more than lotuses and maps of

blue fingers tracing hard down the grounds back
a girl striding towards rain puddles in neon cobblestones
of different faces, bigger coffee cups and a man, who finally
breathes in the smell of red hair and
knows it to belong to more than gulmohar trees and love and the fire of

black fingers tracing jagged hard down the cracked grounds back
as rain and pain and nothing to gain except the hands of our mothers that
bring us home. Bring us home.