I am from a overgrown tree that hung over the fence, bursting with colorful fruit

from the old smell of ancient books lovingly kept from years past 

and a rusty basketball hoop that hangs half-broken from my childhood 

I am from a huge empty hall 

and the smell of smoke from a fire burning, sweetening the air 

I am from leaves that open and close as though concealing secrets 

whose soft leaves seemed almost like a whisper 

I am from the smell of spices burning in the wind and 

hibiscus among leaves bursting a 

poisonous scarlet 

From Anandi and Anand 

I am from stubbornness and determination  

and from anger as explosive and dormant as a volcano 

from never ending stories and beliefs 

I am from small hiding places adults never knew about 

I am from high expectations and ageless perspectives  

from sweet syrup and colorful chilies 

from traditional ways with hardly any compromise 

and from rules as daunting as their consequences 

From a diary with paper as thin and brittle as the swirling writing 

That conjures colorful memories

I am from those moments as out-reaching as the tree over the fence 

and as distinct and unique as the fruit with all it’s color