The diffused gleam of jaded dreams
like a siren call upon our desires deep
to sink again in their harrowed streams.

We walk on towards better things
trailing the hummingbird of hope.
Onward, intrepid on rainbow wings.

We live to die another day and begin
with a fated end. Till then we spend
our hours fueling the fire held within.

Why settle for being the fallen fruit
when we can sprout, lush and green?
Again, we will grow; we will take root.

I was a little older than six
when you came to us,
ruddy cheeked
with a shock of curly hair,
tiny fingers that wrapped
around my pinkie
and squeezed
happiness into my heart.

You were (and still are)
the epicenter
of the world forever changed.

To be honest,
my childhood began with you.
I don’t have any memories
of being anyone
before I was your sister.

I know you will say
that’s just because I’m dumb.
That’s not the case, idiot.
Mom always tells me
that I was a lonely child,
neither sad nor shy,
just content playing by myself.
I choose to think
I was waiting… for you
to join the fun.

And what fun we’ve had!
Making up dance routines
to our favorite songs;
Smuggling snacks to bed;
Adding new levels
to invented games.
Remember “Sleep, Sleep”?
Competing to see who
could pretend to sleep
without moving the longest –  
I’m sorry I tricked you, boo.
I knew you would drift off
and I’d be able to read in peace.
You caught on soon though
and I had to think of other ways
to keep you still.

So I began reading to you
from books I loved,
stories and poems,
of adventures so epic
they called the magic to the skin  
and you listened,
tickled pink.

You listened, enthralled,  
to the gibber jabber
I came up with on the spot,
often asking for more.
To this day, you listen
and pay heed
to every word,
every notion
like it is really worthy
of your attention.

If you let me sleep
I will not ask to be free.
I will don the chains
you insist are not a leash.
Allow me to drop
deeply, slowly, in rapture
without the plummeting end.

If the long tunnel
must bait me with the promise
of light ahead while
its long shadow weighs me down
I need to lie here
and rest before I accept
the white untrue hope.
If tomorrow must arrive
and I have to greet
the blue rascal with a smile
let me say goodbye for now.

The squall rousted the last of the roses,
a flutter amongst the mango blossoms.
The storm billowed with savage abandon,
a waterfall cascaded down the wall.
Lightning graffiti scrawled across the sky,
charcoal thunder rattled the fogged windows.

I held her trembling hand and stroked her back
as she leaped at the sound of every crack.
We breathed in rhythm — a steady tempo —
in-out, in-out, our tempest ritual.

He came to report a discovery
of roe while cleaning the rohu for lunch.
Spicy fritters added to the menu —
swift improvement to inclement weather.

Have to forage for words that I can weave
into cogent verses that sound sublime.
Try to hatch a suitable scheme to rhyme,
strain my murky ideas through a sieve,
count syllables – my secret pauper’s peeve.
Must stop watching this TV show and climb
out of bed. Holy smokes! Look at the time!
I need to start writing now, I believe.