I was the one who deciphered the Brahmi script
and made the Edicts of Ashoka speak from the stone –
unknown centuries suddenly stood ajar.
But those I had forced to speak up
came furiously storming out of their past
and robbed me of my son.
My only description of him
is that he is a few days old
and has a crown of reddish down.
What helps me not to forget
is this constant headache –
like the clattering of hooves
from those who repeatedly abduct my son.