Photo credit: modified Copernicus Sentinel data 2026

I thought my mother was untouchable,

But I was younger then,

Now I know

Even great things will cave,

Break direction,

Go crocodile-jawed, boulder-fisted.

I had a right to her bone and muscle,

But sweat is hot and seeps into the pores,

Making the joints slippery,

Loosening ice slab from bed-rock.

Water heats slower than stone,

But it pools,

Hammers,

Goes butcher,

And artery mad.

Water is faster than the breath,

And tears an alkaline soul solvent.

Head here – limbs there – torso unfleshed, nowhere –

Mother took me into her flowing grave,

I was hurtling debris, roaring,

But she could not hear my claim

To a quiet death.

Priya Darshini is a poet who lives in rural Uttarakhand, India.