yellow, musky walls
cracking, just the tiniest bit
from the corners –
the ceiling fan bumping
into my head when i stand
on the bed, i am Deodar;
drums filled with clothes, cushions,
cardboard, cups, record albums,
sit next to the entrance –
their lids are my ladders,
the corner my Mario playground;
the floor, freshly layered with mud,
my bare feet,
on the palms of earth –
the brown resembles my toes,
my eyes, my hair, my skin,
this is the womb of nature;
an orange light bulb,
hanging on the left wall
is my siren,
i am hiding in this room
from the footsteps above me,
this room is my sanctuary,
my playground, my library,
my only remaining memory
of the kachcha house on the hill;