what your God adorns is straight and white, expected.  

otherwise, suddenly there’s more at stake. 

your mother spasms  

& your favourite jeans cannot look at you anymore. 

cut fruit on a silver platter stops 

& your black hair mourns the family photo albums. 

you are phased out of your surname  

& your bus home is a graveyard of knocked-out teeth. 

just shame 

& white rain dripping down your chin, 

a bowl of rotting rasmalai.