When Meera died, they dissected her body looking for her soul
Scratched layer after layer of her dead blue skin
Shaved off her hair, took out the eyes
Carefully carved out what was left her smile
The left hand, the right hand, the right leg, the left leg
Sliced and given to each family member to look into carefully
Doctors were called to empty her torso, her soul must’nt get lost in the mush
Of the small and large intestine, the slight smokey lungs
The heart was the most important place, stories called it the soul home
The brain was handled by a neurosurgeon for everything in there creates
What is called the soul; the grandmother walked in and said
It must have hidden in her clothes!
Out rained her closet, all the colors so bright
Duppattas in the air, patialas, and shirts
Sumitra di almost found a sweater that smelled like her
They found her 18th birthday red top, and earrings gifted by a person she truly loved
The tailor-made pair of loose, long pants, and the beloved lehenga worn twice a year
The t-shirt she wore everyday for a week, and her favorite summer shorts
They searched and searched from bra to sock, but the soul just seemed to be lost!
Dad came out with her diary, the sacred private place
She poured herself in this for so long, my Meera must be here
The pages came tumbling out, they had held her world so long
But all paa could find in there were the lyrics of their favorite song
Quotes that Kabir had shared, a conversation she once had with Uma
One entry sounded like Rudra, rough and raw, sensuous and kind
Another had Naina between the words as she went on about the depths of the mind
It held the usefulness of mom’s meditation, the meaning of her favorite word
There was background music produced by Sid, his world inside her world;
A mangled body, scattered clothes, a private diary no more
When Meera died they dissected her life, searching for her soul.
Later that year when Kabir died they dissected his life searching for his soul
What a surprise it was to find Meera as they emptied out his drawer.
Scratched layer after layer of her dead blue skin
Shaved off her hair, took out the eyes
Carefully carved out what was left her smile
The left hand, the right hand, the right leg, the left leg
Sliced and given to each family member to look into carefully
Doctors were called to empty her torso, her soul must’nt get lost in the mush
Of the small and large intestine, the slight smokey lungs
The heart was the most important place, stories called it the soul home
The brain was handled by a neurosurgeon for everything in there creates
What is called the soul; the grandmother walked in and said
It must have hidden in her clothes!
Out rained her closet, all the colors so bright
Duppattas in the air, patialas, and shirts
Sumitra di almost found a sweater that smelled like her
They found her 18th birthday red top, and earrings gifted by a person she truly loved
The tailor-made pair of loose, long pants, and the beloved lehenga worn twice a year
The t-shirt she wore everyday for a week, and her favorite summer shorts
They searched and searched from bra to sock, but the soul just seemed to be lost!
Dad came out with her diary, the sacred private place
She poured herself in this for so long, my Meera must be here
The pages came tumbling out, they had held her world so long
But all paa could find in there were the lyrics of their favorite song
Quotes that Kabir had shared, a conversation she once had with Uma
One entry sounded like Rudra, rough and raw, sensuous and kind
Another had Naina between the words as she went on about the depths of the mind
It held the usefulness of mom’s meditation, the meaning of her favorite word
There was background music produced by Sid, his world inside her world;
A mangled body, scattered clothes, a private diary no more
When Meera died they dissected her life, searching for her soul.
Later that year when Kabir died they dissected his life searching for his soul
What a surprise it was to find Meera as they emptied out his drawer.
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