I don’t remember when my mom
stopped feeding me, when she stopped
cleaning me. I vaguely remember
when my father stopped walking me to places,
when my parents stopped scolding me,
when they stopped teaching me maths,
physics, and geography.
I remember the faces that smiled
because I giggled, the hands
that clapped when I finished my food,
when I learned to say
A, B, C.
And here I am, that same child,
now a man writing poems in silence,
learning the lessons of life;
cooking, eating, taking care of my health,
talking to walls, pressure cookers,
furniture,
and the pages of history—
all by myself.
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