Chasing me to sit still
Making me go through the drill.
“Mum I hate this”
Then never realizing it was bliss.
Whining like a baby
I used to get extra candy.
It was so uncool
back in school.
Such a fool to think all you cared then were luscious hair;
homemade oil is still your flair.
A recipe passed on through generations
like it was some sort of tradition.
Expertly dancing your fingers
through my mushroom haircut, making it skillfully linger.
Rhythming them through every strand
Felt like a lullaby ebbing in the sand.
Oil permeating in every pore
transposing me to a new shore.
Reminiscing them sitting in a hostel room,
which I just cleaned with a broom.
Now I know it was something more
For you enchanted new folklore.
Planting a thought in the core.
A bevy of teachings adorning mind’s store.
~ti_ka?
Thank you for reading.
