Hope and Dream are two sisters:
Bickering and quarrelling all the time.
Neither believes the other is better.
Neither trusts the other to the machinations
Of time. Self-dependent and codependent:
Such an odd duo they are at times!
They are their worst accusers by nature,
Yet they are partners in crimes.
Hope often puffs up the dream,
While Dream takes Hope seriously.
Both sisters then fall out suddenly
In the aftermath of a confrontation
With reality. But when Dream is broken
Hope picks up the pieces
Joins them up with broken shards
Of a resurrected self.

The Banyan tree is dying, the little boy exclaimed

Who would believe him though?
It was not just a tree but a legacy,
A witness of generations.

The Banyan tree is dying, the farmer complained

Many a hot afternoon
He had sought its shade
What an inconvenience.

The Banyan tree is dying, the priests shouted

The holy site had led to
Many days of profit
And few days of satisfaction

The Banyan tree is dying, no one did anything

Time withered its branches
Termites ate away the roots
And the trunk fell like a giant.

The Banyan tree is falling, the workers cried.

Work to be done
Land to be cleared
Nobody cares.

The walls have managed to keep me well-aloof and apart
It was March just the other day
My prison cocoons me in the cool autumn wind
Not sure of what danger is out there
War, virus, riots and ****
It’s a crazy world, I am safe.
I question my safety now and then.
My sanity I question more often.

I twirled in front of my dresser
Posing for acquaintances
Smiling through the boredom
Of never-ending video conferences.
The strain is showing through
On threadbare patience
Straining at the slightest provocation.

The glaring screen tempts me  
Into one last indiscretion
Of unreasonable outrage.
Elections, propaganda and
Undeserved praise
Who is worthy? You say.
Valid question.

The stench of my stale room
Reeks of carbon dioxide
The air around me
Threatening death
Inside outside
Masks always existed
Now they only cover more
Not just your intentions
And it is fine; Nightmares
Are better hidden

My prison cell comforts me
And I get accustomed
To the confinement
Of my own house
Months have passed
Days are passing
Minutes seem longer now

A short walk

Awkward stops

I look through

No window shopping

Just plain criticism.

Fire spitting hate

A long path

Ends abruptly

Because it's unwanted

Past can be

Both excavated

Or buried

Like seeds

Giving rise to

New leaves.
(C) Anavah 2019

He held my gaze that little Urchin
In the middle of the crowded road
He held my gaze with his impish smile
For as long as his attention would hold
A playful smile was on his lips
Though his clothes lay in tatters
The little Urchin was full of life
Rich in what it matters
He flitted towards the end of the street
Where the slums clustered in thickets
I heard the sound of something crashing
And noticed fallen wickets
Many an imps frolicked by
In the guise of deprivation
Yet all that I could see
Survival beyond starvation
But then he flitted again in hurry
As the noon hour chimed
He went to the edge of the road
And over a wall he climbed
Reaching for left overs
He battled with stray dogs
His friends joined in battle cries
Pelted them with rocks
He held my gaze with the life
That twinkled in his eyes
But before I could say goodbye
I knew his eyes had lied
©Anavah 2019

My future is in my past.
I know it doesn't make sense but it actually does.
All my hopes of who I want to be
Have been buried with dead ancient dreams.
Corpses of ambitions lie six foot under
With tombstones of pity and mourning.
My future is in my past and I am free
To chalk up everything to destiny
My fate is written in torn pages of time
My hope is no longer mine
Yet my existence is my own epiphany

(c) Anavah 2019

Is it bad to ignore the slight on the part of others?

When judgement calls you to judge

Is it bad to leave things at the hands of justice?

Is it bad to subdue passions for the sake of patience?

Is it bad to want to see good?



Is it bad to reign in the tongue when curses fly?

When blood boils and logic leaves the door

Is it bad to hope for things to improve?

Is it bad to light the lamp of silence when dark winds howl?

Is it bad to speak good?



Is it bad to forgive when wounds are inflicted?

Is it bad to let blood stains be washed in tears?

When tired eyes seek mercy for a wrong

Is it bad to do good when evil seems to persevere?



(c) Anavah 2019