I wake up most mornings

A cup of tea awaits

Piece of toast and accoutrements

Love is Umami

Nourishing my spirit

We walk on the lakeshore

He grips my hand

The water holds the sky within

As he pulls me to himself

Away from the edge

Love is redolent with warm spices

Seeping into my soul

We argue

Shoot arrows with utmost deliberation

Taxation, healthcare, disease, religion

The inefficacy of politicians

Death, the pointlessness of it all

How I don’t put things back

How he procrastinates

Doors slam, the earth trembles with temper

Or is it just trucks on our busy street?

Love is now a sour plum

A matter of palates

I wake him up at 2 am

Shivering, burning

He piles blankets on

Cool hands touch me as I perspire

Feverish, I mumble

A dark quiet room

My child’s voice

Love becomes medicine

Late at night

I walk on the cold tiles of my kitchen

Gathering flour, sugar, cardamom, clarified butter

My feet bare, my robe askew

Mind churning

I expel my longing

For my homeland

He comes to me softly

We bake our native shortbread

Burnt around the edges, imperfect

Yet, in an unsparing world

Love lends us sweet notes.

(For the theme The Flavours of Love, this poem won the first prize in the poetry segment of the competition organized by The Chandigarh Literary Society)