The Samosa

You never know, what's inside

if it's spicy or if it's mild

if it's mutton

or if it's peas.

You do know, though

that the sound it makes

when into it you bite

is one of love

and certainly of might.

When Amma sits

to fold samosas

at her beck and call we are

at all hours.

As an adult, folding my own

observing the joys and the smiles,

the non-stop thank-you's and all the hugs

just because, of the samosas I fold.

You never know, what's inside

those triangles, wrapped so tight

if it's chili or if it's not

if it's potatoes

or if it's corn

But you know you've arrived

when it's lamb you realize.