I dreamt that, nearing his end,
my father wrote the story of his life
in the language of his grandmother.

I don’t understand the words,
he told me, but I think you
will find it useful someday –

it has something to do
with the way we lived
in the dark times that came

before these dark times.

It is not easy to remember,

he told me. It has something
to do with scattered light,

and how I love you.

Published with permission from “The Penguin Book of Indian Poets”, Penguin India.

This selection is curated by Yamini Krishnan.