A feather spirals down,
quill first,
making a silent point that needs no elaboration.
A parrot crackles,
in sunlit flight from shade to shade,
making another point that defies all argument.
Palms climb jubilant. Half-moon sinks...

A kingfisher stalls'n rolls into a blue bolt,
shoots into the pond'n shoots up, fleeing
a sprinkle of words
on water, holding
in its beak, flapping,
me!

Full moon night,
jasmines all abloom...my love's
tresses silver-streaked!

Wordpecker,
stop pecking...listen—
temple bell!

Whirl!
My girl’s saree fringe
swirls;
round my face it
furls…
Blow again, north wind!

Did you,
there at the stern of my canoe,
sit with your oars gently paddling,
as a lull fell over the river
and dark clouds billowed up the skies,
the trees, leaning over the banks, holding their breath,
for the birds to return safe to roost,
before the storm?
Did you,
just a moment ago,
smile,
freezing the lull,
reassuringly,
gently paddling?

Moth-eaten poems
in my trunk—inside, brittle,
an old love letter…

Something
vanishes into thick ether,
swimming ripple-less.
Faintly,
from far away,
the drumbeats of Onam.