I Hope Not

Born in darkness,
I learnt to laugh 
By the glow of the neon lights
That make my mother look beautiful;
From the time the sun sets,
Till the first light of dawn.
Her laughter tinkles,
Infectious,
With every new face,
Though most of them never return.
Coloured liquid in tiny bottles,
Lined against the mirror,
Catch the light of the sun
While she sleeps...
I put some on my nails sometimes
And I count the tiny lines on her face-
The lines you cannot see
In the dark of the night.
What is left 
Of the string of jasmines in her hair
Fills our room with their scent;
They smell a little
Like the tiny flower shop
Right outside the temple we never visit.
I don't like the white letters on the board,
But I like the sweet candy 
That the nice lady brings on Sundays
For after the Maths classes.
I'd rather be pretty like mother;
With coloured nails,
Flowers in my hair,
And the tinkle of bells around my ankles...
So I don't understand,
I know not why mother weeps,
And says, 
'I hope not'.