The little girl

Stayed wide awake.

She would not take

No for an answer

Would not go to sleep

Even when her grandmother said

That it is too late

And you should hear the owls hooting

The nasty ghosts coming all the way

To eat your little nose up!

She would laugh

With so much glee

And say

Ghosts aren't real, grandma

There are angels.

And then

She would insist

With unfathomable delight in her eyes

And childlike innocence

Tell me about Radha, grandma

And about Krishna.

The grandmother would smile

And the night would pass.

If we still breathe on Earth,

Krishna

We owe our lives to

Sweet, wrinkled

Grandmothers.