You rule, revel, rest in your cell, I hear.
The world seeps in, to your feet
Through iron bars. Bent rules – visible,
Yet unseen. The sentence smashed to
Words on old paper. I have a picture.

Ma says I cannot visit. Bad influence.

Super-bike. Crusher of distances to dust.
A dream in chrome. A surprise,
Not unexpected. Kings need not dream,
You said, handing me the keys. I forgot
The newspapers, you my failed exams.

Ma says I must finish college. Work!

The watch was made of silver. Engraved,
My name entwined with grape vines.
Broken by a school fight. My Lion,
You beamed. Patted my back till the
Last tear dried. Guilt turned into pride.

Ma says you spoilt me, rotted my core.

New shoes, red lights on the heels. New clothes.
The day we came home. We left the guests,
With their glasses and finger food behind. In the
Garden, we pretended to take stock, to watch
People under cover, like rulers of a new land.

Ma says I am your shield against conscience.

From your shoulders once I saw another world.
Grease choked air, space, light, plenty. There too,
We were sailors, soldiers, children of Gods.
Undefeated in battle, by those, who like fools
Believed that we were but mere mortals.

Ma says you were a different man then. Constant. Content.

Happy?

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Ranjabali Chaudhuri is a lawyer and an aspiring writer. Being a mother means she has to switch from reading anti-trust pieces to board books about sheep, princesses and caterpillars. She tweets about things she finds interesting from @Ranjabali and shares photos on Instagram from @ranjabali. She lives in Amsterdam with her husband and three-year old daughter.

Photo: Matt Lamers