In the death of light
Leave a poem alone

After years
Go back to see it
And don't fear
Like a mother
It will set you thinking
You had dropped it minutes back
Poem doesn't die
Like a leaf, abandoned
In the ground
Or on concretes
And does not have destiny
Like that of a crumpled papper
In a stinking dustbin
Or on heaps of scrapes
Each moment
It emits aroma
And you hug it
Throughout your life
And feel happier
And much blessed

Night is golden
If the day is spent for good deeds......

Swagger
Is everything

It is worth
Spending a lot
For its sake

Are you at a shop
Of your area?

Wait. Watch around.

Buy anything,
But not something red

Very solid or juicy
Or a comb of a hen.

Be conscious
As you make your choice.

Don't buy watermelon
In pieces and without peel.

You will be lynched
To carry beef.

Smell and taste
Are zero for them.

Colour is their criteria.

I am still learning
how to be gentle and kind
in a world that is not mine,
where the flowers sway
in fields of golden solemnity
and the trees shake like a word
that wants to be said.

I am still learning
how to live in a place
where knowledge is but
a means to an end;
a point on the map
to be forgotten once you've
crossed into the blissful ignorance
of suburban accomplishment.

I am still learning
how to look at a sunrise
and feel more than this
transient melancholy
at a beauty that is held alone.
The thoughts that bloom
in exultance just to be borne
lie waiting, ripe with discontent
at the threshold of a room
where no one speaks the language.

Father,
you have been amazing
In giving biscuits
to the little squirrels
At the fall of evenings
in the Golden park
Doling out grains
to pigeons
On top floor
Of the old house
Wiping tears
Of the weeping children
On the pavements
And in the lanes
Holding the hand
Of the blinds
As they cross the roads
In the warm days
And when fog
Pours down
Sharing smiles
Of the neighbors
At their special feasts
And when it is any day
Inviting the poor
To our dinners
And a great welcome
To them at the door
Providing blankets
To those who sleep
Under the sidewalk
In the cold nights.

Father
I am mesmerized
With your special deeds.

Being a father is common
And law of heaven,
But being an amazing father
Is very rare, very, very rare.

I am blessed
You are mine,

In her youth I thought my daughter
Elizabeth was the most beautiful girl
I had ever seen.  Indeed she was and
I loved her more than words can tell.
She was born 9 months after my dad
Passed and her middle name Rae was
In his memory and I believed she had
His mortal soul left for her with all my
Love that I should not grieve more for
Him who had gone to a far better place.
So this is for Rae born on the 10th of the
Month of June in the year of our Lord
1966.  Liz be well and know that I still
Love you and always will when I think
Of that beautiful young girl given to
Me in remembrance of my father, Ray
A belated Happy Birthday greeting with
Love,David

When I look over his shoulder,
I have a close look of the world......

from the beginning of now,
new and beautiful
fields of
time
are growing
but do not rush -
the grass isn’t yet ready
for the weight of your past
and that must not be rushed either
for everything needs time
to get a little bit stronger
you are a process
too wonderful
to be rushed.
you may dream and go gently
and take as long as you need
for those fields
will never
stop waiting
for you

The child is a kite
                      And father holds the thread throughout its course of journey
In the unknown space......