Is it wrong to spend my nights thinking of her,
My love for her sun-kissed sepia skin makes me kinder to my own
The drape of the silk saree from her hips keeps me attentive during pooja and prayer
The glassy chimes of her bangles as she tucks hair behind my jhumka adorned ear,
Perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood incense, aromas of home
Today my love has painted my nails a dark shade of red,
I cannot help but assume this color is a symbol of our love
Our love is born out of the constructs of devotion
But it's our culture, our country, these people. Our people.
Who believe love as intense as ours should only be spoken through whispers
They who push us away the furthest, in their eyes I am a criminal
A criminal, before I turn 16
Am I to believe in the conditional love of my country and culture
Or the unconditional love I've found in her.