A fish,
Tha lives
In the acquarium of time.

It stirs,
Memories slosh,

And I am
Bound to it

My blanket in cold.

A leaf,
That holds to a branch,

Growing old,
And its bark getting darker.

I know
It has fallen off.

I miss it
To watch others swing

And that
Had played like them

In all seasons
Withstanding everything.

A word,
Well spelled on a particular paper.

Now I am
A complementary part of it

To make
A meaningful sentence.

But that
Has melted, and I

Longingly
Search for it.

My own orange tree
In my own garden
Of blueberries, broccoli,
And everything I love without pardon

I will grow my tree
And we will grow in unison
To heaven from a seedling
Amongst the setting sun

Oh glorious orbs of sunlight
In which I will gladly drown
From soil unto great heights
I joyfully match my evening gown

My own lovely sun tree
With branches stretched to swirl
Oh how I wish to be like thee
To golden rays from a shadowed girl

Walking is wisdom
People go out
Abandoning their
Comfort unstitched
Each step is
pulling the yoke
It is sunrise
What drives them out
And keep them running
Pushing each rock
That hinders their way
I am sure it is an invisible
Spirit that breathes inside
A special gift
Of God to them
Not for women
A message for those
Shouting for equality
Yesterday the rain
Hit hard like strip on the fur
And the man,
with his umbrella
Like a broken sieve,
Staggering fast
Due to his twisted leg
Crossed the road
Where ditches were the rungs
I made a good comeback
Though in the morning
My mind had been
The kettle on the fire
And like him crossed
The subway to reach my point
Coming back is the best harvest
After sowing seeds of going out
And Walking is their water to grow

Going out for poetry reading in hazy days
Is frying fish yourself in a cold winter night.

Window opens to salubrious breeze
Tucked away at, waiting to be hailed
Just to get in and cool the mind
That is boiling like water in a container
That has been since long, and in such times
Even a single minute is a summer noon.
This is what mankind has failed to decipher
And to get a find better injection or capsule
At the right moment so that the life
That was marooned can be on sail again.
As the wind was fresh I switched on my cell
And mother was smiling to know in a lucid way
I was normal and back on delayed duites.

If we had
No smile
What would
Happened
With our faces?
Would they
Have looked
The base
Of a fry pan,
The head
Of a buffalo
Or the face
Of champeze
The bark of
The oldest oak
The panda
Looking from
The branches
It is nothing
Like that.
God be thanked.
It is the skin
Of a zebra,
The cheeks
Of a dandelion,

The silver
In the azure
The sparkle
Of the day
And everything
That is splendid.....

In the cameo of twilight
I embrace the chair
And sit near the window
And the bench sparkles
That gave me light
Though she was gone
Like a meteor in the mist.
I remember when the bench
Was an altar and we would
Sacrifice the hours
To get contenment
And it was there
Spilling over
And flowing down the hands.
I remember the bench
The concert of my song
On her lips and
The parrots trying
To surpass hers
From the swinging cradle
Over our cool heads.
I remember the bench
Where we had discussed
The life that is just prose
And the croaking in the pond
And finally we had made up
Our minds to weave our moments
Like the strings in a guitar.
The bench I remember
Is the souvenir to my soul.
It is the beginning of Endymion.

My child doesn't jump to images
He rummages one or two of his taste

To much degree. Yesterday he found
A piece of a beautiful deer,

Running upward the hill
Ignorant of water, rushhing high.

Creeping to me , that night,
Under the warm blanket
He put up in a surprising way:
Can we run without moving
And still reach the desired place?
Why is that deer there
So nonchalant, though no progress?
Closer to him I did say:
Life is about movement
But paintings cheat us in such a way
That we fall into a ditch of beauty
And forget rhythm of the clock..