Our Storybook

A drink of holy basil water conjures a distant, ancestral memory

I remember a temple deep in the heart of Southern India 

My family's Kula Deivam, or ancestral temple 

Sunk in a sea of never ending grasses 

Isolated from civilization yet an unbreakable piece of my soul

A human monolith of wonder, dark stone pillars and walls lovingly carved into intricate curves and designs

Its wide courtyard narrows at the entrance, giving way to the sanctum sanctorum 

Wherein lies the grand shrine of the temple deity

The goddess Parvati, wife of Lord Shiva

She’s adorned in an ornate frame of gold

Newly draped with ceremonial silk robes and a gold crown bejeweled with jade gifted by the mountains 

All this grandeur, in the middle of nowhere 

The scope of this ancient past sets my history loving-heart into an excited flutter

But my mind knows that more lies beneath, that more transcends this luring beauty

It was within these walls, where my forbearers would come to pray

Pray to the temple goddess and beg for their wishes to be granted

It was within these walls, where we’d compose poetry

Strum wooden lutes and sing to the rhythm of our hearts

It was within these walls, where children would learn about their past 

And find the spark needed to embrace their futures

It’s within these walls, where one finds evidence of my family

It’s where one can find our history, beliefs, and culture preserved,

It’s our storybook.

Well of Words

Ancient words passed down by scriptures

Elegant curls and dots 

Bearing resemblance to bright orange funnel cakes

A sweet mother tongue

All of the ancestors spoke it, so all the young must, too

But one of the young forgot

Her well was drained of water

And her tongue became parched by the unbearable silence

She opened her mouth, tongue curled, to speak

But no words would come out

Not a single word was uttered

Not a single sound

And this was the unfair truth

No more would the language dance across her lips

Carried across the sea for a reason

Carried here so it would be heard - so it could be cherished

No more would the world hear the sweetness of this music

But that girl found a melody as sweet as honey

And she sang from the bottom of her mourning heart

Praise for gods, praise for nature, praise for life

Each note touched by the magic of passion

By the magic of devotion

And by the magic of hope

For that day, the girl found herself once again

Rediscovered and reborn from the ashes of her ancestors

She climbed out of her well and flooded it with the clearest blue water

And when she opened her mouth, tongue curled to speak

Her power was back.