hello looks like goodbye,
every time I look into your eyes;
as a leaf born from the May air,
on an August day,
the death grip on the hour hand,
desperate to stay:
There is never enough of the time we share
In the cloudy evenings with strong hints of rain
You heard them once and you heard them again
The air would rend with their cacophony
The torrents would send them in ecstatic glee.
Even a few years back you could find them around
The harbinger of monsoon with harsh croaking sound
On your yard and garden in quite large packs
Frolicking for insects, the great jumping Jacks.
They scoured the marshland in search for food
Calling in monotone and setting you to brood
With your mind gnawed by the incessant rains
That rattled your thoughts and the glass window panes.
But then lands were devoured by the human sharks
Soon disappeared open spaces and parks
Came up apartments and rows of house
Urban growth you accept without grouse.
Now in the lonely evenings with fair hints of rain
The rains will be back but you won’t hear them again
Their habitats are gone there aren’t left any bogs
And with these are gone your neighborhood frogs.
Loneliness is now upon his throat
I know it for sure
What ails him hasn't a cure
He's shrinking like a sinking boat.
On the perch a plumed pain
He's lost without a care
Tells the vacant stare
Dooming into a never regain.
Death is an easy height to scale
When life remains to grieve
Without any incentive
As love retires to a dark well.
He's fading in the lost glory
And I know it for sure
What's killing him has no cure
My budgie called Story.
I named him Kahini, the Bengali for story.
His partner died a few days back.
Have you considered the owl?
Excluded from days
like a diabetic warned off fudge
Is the carob of night enough?
Sure, it’s dark, possibly smooth
and those tasty rodents move there
But look at the day
with a head that can turn right round
you’d see every rotten thing
Every bad stroke and selfishness,
every creaky knee and thumb
in clarity, loud
Oh to be the owl
I've been sent to prism
For minor refractions
My days of frequent violets
Are now in the past
As the light in me
Is slowly emerging
Tomorrow I'll open my eyes
And find correction of vision
Mingled with distorted spectrum
When answers to puzzling questions lead only to more confusion.
Such beauty in
The morning sky
Waking me to wintry
Colors of pale blues
Dancing through my
Such a display
While geese hunting
Of here below.