A decision when
to contain one's imagination.

Once anything is defined,
it looses a little of its definition.

We call it “peacock hill”
I love this misty humidity that hangs here
sunlight barely peeking through; lovely mossy ground and wet leaves
turning to mulch under our tramping feet, we hear the peacocks call
in their unique tone - musical, alluring and promising
of a rare treat to the eyes,  I’m only six years old, walking by your side,
and I don’t realize that in my excitement to collect peacock feathers-
i’m missing the peacocks for the feathers
and
I’m missing your company for the peacocks
and somehow if I could turn back time, i’d like to make that right
pay more attention to you, than to silly feathers or birds, beautiful though they are
just soak in the moment, and be with you completely
so that years later, when we live so far away
i’d look back on this moment with a lot less regret
and be glad, that we father and daughter
had some great times together

-Vijayalakshmi Harish

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish