I remember the sparrows nesting in the low loft
Where the Amar Chitra Kathas lay,
And the old red mirror
Tied to the window with string.
For a long time that was all I knew of myself
- The face in the round red circle
Who believed her mother
When she said the sparrows chirped her name.

So much magic since then
Has been lost and found and reclaimed.

I have my childhood books again
Have found memories from that time
To piece together in diaries and poetry.
I have voyaged on self-discovery
And seen new facets of myself
Through and beyond that first dimension.

But lost to me, in that old childhood room,
Is the simple, lucid idea of who I am.