Fallen spring

By aashna sethi

 
 

What did you think of me

When you handed me a salver for prayer,

Before I could hold a pallet of colours?

What did you think of me

Every time my wrists produced the sound of glass bangles,

Where there should have been a ticking watch?

What did you think of me

When there was a life crying in my lap,

Before there was even happiness in mine?