Breeze whispers despair
a tree exhaled
the leaf changed colour

The night slept alone
dreams had cloaked the day

Lost words find their way to the well
you can hear them
as they jump, and drown

an echo rebounds
crawling up the serrated wall
severing the union
of vowels and consonants

algae mates
dismembered hieroglyphs
an obscure syllable is born

On a foggy morning

Leaves swoon
as fog hugs the tree
kissing its pores
with open wet lips.

the breeze hisses
in jealousy.

the sun
looks away.

the sparrow
laments
her lost love.

Her tender skin sprouts
green shoots
a wreath,
at the foot of tree
she was buried.

On the trunk
her face appeared, a
morphed stump.

The bark, her coffin
split, where demons clawed.

A number, worms out
indelible scars, 452.

Frozen chambers of mortuary
await the next,
a child, a girl, a dalit, a musalman.
A cattle herder.
Or, the silent you, you and you.

I am a collector.

Really?
What now?

People, Places, Things?

Hmmm... Yes and No.
Of Desires. Dreams. Memories.

Desires,
For unsatiated sense of longing.
So People.

Dreams,
Floating images, emotions, fantasies.
So Places.

Memories.
That's all which is left.
So, Things.

I am a collector.

Really?
Of what?
Art, Pearls, Antiques?

Hmmm... Yes and No.
Of Sunshine. Spring. Smiles.

And how?

Sunshine,
For it paints a glorious rainbow.
So Art.

Spring,
That precious dew drop on greens.
So Pearls.

Smiles,
They are hard to come by.
So Antiques.