The gajra weaver, squatting by a basket 

With yellow and orange marigold in the sun

And one full of jasmine buds

Its mesmerizing aroma awakens memories

When each touch was simpler 

I ask her to make me one

With a momentary hesitation, surprise

And then with a knowing smile 

I watch her needle, with the trailing thread

And with each bud I whisper 

A yearning memory of her

Drawing the white cotton through

Embracing them together

Each memory of her coalescing 

Unfurling into this jasmine garland 

Wrapped in a newspaper, I take it home

I ask her to turn around and

Gently tuck it into her black hairband

And as I put my nose in it

With a deep breath 

The slipstreams of her smell

Twirled with the buds

Flutter as they awaken

Each one of them now flowering

Hoping they bring her 

To the same place in my memories

And bring us back home, to peace again