The full moon

On this very day of  full moon , long years ago,
Oil lamps of earth had flickered  before a basil 
In a  backyard, their flames trying to reach trees,
Among  shadows of women with half-shut eyes .

The woman who was my beginning had arrived
Under this very moon, an oiled bundle of flesh
In a village house, among calm cows chewing cud
At the  full moon, their flaccid bodies shivering
Their leather at  flies , in  moony nonchalance.

I am now open-ended , where I had then begun.
My series now broke, backwards to the green sea.
Some day I shall be open-ended at the sky end .

(Remembering my departed mother on her eightieth birthday on the full moon day of Kartik)

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