Come to Point Nemo

My cuticles are a reflection of my state of mind

It's an unsightly habit I inherited from my father over time

My pauses aren't impregnated with the unsaid

But are intervals of quiet non evasive pondering on the bed

Thoughts about plastic beaches in the middle of the South Pacific

Of forgotten starships whose remains lay embedded in the ocean floor, quite pathetic

Wondering whether they are being missed by their motherships

Time travelling to a random summer vacation day through tiny water sips

The year was 2002

Had we slept early we'd have been in a better mood

We were on either side of mummy

It was almost too bright, just intolerably sunny

Counting mum, myself and my sibling

A pack of three strolling toward the Shiv ling

So many selective little things continue from one to another

Mothers to daughters were once a daughter to their mother

Saree draping, chapati baking, vernacular speaking

Amongst many, these three I'd like to learn, I'm keeping

And pass on to the next series of future me's

My very own band of bees

Or it is swarm