A Long Way to Go

I am caramel swirls and sable curls,

warm apple pie served with cardamom masala chai

in chipped mugs older than I am.

I am fireworks that burst and bloom and sizzle

in the twilight on the Fourth of July and on Diwali.

I am the grace of an eagle and the pride of a peacock,

soaring, strutting, singing, putting on a show.

I am the strings of a spruce violin and the chords of a teak sitar, 

pulled and plucked in solitude when the world is too much to bear.

I am the rainbow hues of oil paints, and the fragrant heaps of Holi gulal,

unfolding like a vibrant tapestry, woven witness to human tales.

I am black and white films watched on rainy Friday evenings,

and charcoal drawings scribbled into creased sketchbooks;

comforting restless hearts and pensive minds.

I am kind brown eyes with wrinkles dancing in the corners,

and chafed pink hands, toiling to nourish and sustain.

I am hearty belly laughs that bounce off walls decorated with regal portraits, 

and salty tears that make puddles on dust covered scrapbooks.

I carry the richness of two worlds within my soul, my blessing and my burden; 

but I still have a long way to go.