FOR MOTHER

This is your legacy

A blank space
running through my veins
fingertips, ears,
in the dull ache in my head

You called it emptiness

Unfilled still
after two children
a concrete house
a car-less garage
and a garden
with four teak trees
one for each one of us

You walked empty
with geography textbooks
a black umbrella
notes scribbled
in half-darkness
before we woke up
or after we slept

to teach Fathimas
Ayeshas, Indus,
combing their hair
powdering their faces
before the last bell
meanwhile
you stuck in the Atlantic
handing out mark-sheets

And all this time
Macchu Picchu’s song
muffled between your notes

You dreamt of edifices
propped up by tears

Was it for us?