If You Intend It to End, It Ends More Soulfully

I wish I were brave enough
Or, perhaps, selfless enough,
Or, perhaps, sufficiently
Rich or poor enough,

To dare to do to these lines
What the good women
Allow done to their kolams
They draw on their floors,

To write as in Mithila
The women paint, in bright dyes
On frail paper left for mice
Or used to light fires.

Oh, yes, I do just that; just,
I don’t do it on purpose.