here me again

Amma's voice crackled through my phone as I scrolled PaybookClub late at night. She recited Kannadasan's verses, her Tamil rolling like honey through our kitchen in distant Chennai. I'd forgotten how those words once lulled me to sleep. "You never listen anymore," she whispered, not accusingly. That night, I returned. Downloaded his poems. Recognized myself in every metaphor—my grandmother's wisdom wrapped in immortal stanzas. The comments from strangers sharing their own family stories made me realize we're all just seeking connection. Amma called again. This time, I answered.