Years ago
A pen was found
Its grip was blue
Slightly chipped

It wrote
Everyday on sheets, white
Flawlessly on the lines
Words did glide

It had a special place
Where it rested
After a long day
At the desk

Its home was warm
A wooden drawer
Strategically placed
Easy to fetch

Now it has been years
It longs to see the desk
At dawn
A practice now clearly gone

It lay still
In the wooden drawer
Cold and blue
Ink-less dry

Sometimes
The thought of thinking
Is the last thought on your mind
And thoughtlessly
You are thinking
Of thoughts
That take away all your time

What’s beauty that is captured
In frames
Youthful exuberance
Trapped
In evergreen bottles
Translucent
The potion for immortality
Sought and sold
For
Weary souls and brittle bones  
opaque the vision
Fractal-intrusions

The leaves grew wings
And flew off the branches
Some along with the twigs
The breeze was gentle
And the leaves knew they could fly

🌿🌿

Big and black
The umbrellas
Knew not of any other size
And colours

A rainy day
Decades ago
I reckon

Men on foot
And bicycles, black
Peddling the tar road
Soaking wet

Their attire
Native, pure white
Monochrome
The photograph

March has marched in
Half way through the month
It is hot and has brought summer along
The grapes and melons have turned sweetest ripe
The mangoes have arrived too
Raw and green, they are best pickled
Come May
King Alphonso, will be here
From the wild coastal lands
To conquer every heart
For a golden reign