Model Son The only slaughterhouse is my freedom. 27 years have ticked by Being: a good son Being: a model minority Being: absolute. For you. for you. for you. The only need is what the baby needs. Crying for sustenance Crying for another chance to do it over Crying because there’s no going back, you’re in too deep Look what you reap & weep & steep the bitter tea of becoming doctor While ghost parents watch from the closets and against the walls Observe the cry for help, shake

For my Mother The words echo: "kurachu samayam tha" "kurachu samayam tha" Give me some time… then darkness comes. She weeps. She knows she’ll never feel the same. Time. In Malayalam—give me some time. Indian curse. She felt it. She didn’t pray enough. Her son was worth more than any diamond. Worth more than any piece of gold. He was singular. All the people knew. She knew. His friends knew, but she knew that he would slip away. Something would take him. But before…she— —She s