Where I’m From
By Krupa Sudheendra
I’m from a hammock in the shade,
From a mint garden in the shadows.
I’m from the spring flowers,
Fresh in bloom,
And the soft grass tickling my bare feet.
I’m from the pear tree,
Snaking up our wall,
Yet bearing no fruit,
Thus by far.
I’m from the walks with my family
Along the lake and through winding trails.
I am from Roopa and Sudhi,
From computers and wires and gadgets and gizmos.
From our passports that get stamped,
From East to West, North to South.
I’m from the singers and the artists,
The keep- practicings and the have-funs
I’m from my Indian culture,
And proud to call myself an American.
From long, beautiful dresses,
Silk, gold, and diamond,
To comfy shirts and shorts.
From a full South Indian meal,
To a quick slice of pizza.
From our arts and traditions that we strive to keep alive,
From Holi to Navaratri,
And Easter to Christmas.
And the many languages (over 150) we communicate in,
I’m proud to call myself an American Indian!
I am from the brittle yellow pages,
Or the shiny new cover of a book,
Begging me to delve into the adventure keep fresh and waiting,
Just for me.
I am from the soup kitchens and animal shelters,
And fundraisers for the greater cause.
And from the silly family moments.
I’m from the past, present and future,
The moments I hold dearest.
I cherish every moment of precious time.
I am from those moments.
