I watch her shrivel
In her shell,
Everytime the sun shines:
Perhaps the darkness hides her wounds,
And the battle she fights with time.

I watch her shed
Her wings,
Quite often, while looking upon the sky:
Perhaps she wonders what lies above,
Where even the stars happen to die.

I watch her tie
Her dreams,
Like they are supposed to be,
Perhaps she enjoys the absence of joy,
.... Or the pleasure of making it last.

Bangshi looked at the rolling gold before him.

Not a day would be without two square meals this year,
the surplus produce would earn him good money.

It was then his eyes fell on the thin little girl.

She belonged to somewhere else
always seeking something from the sky
showing little but her ribs jutting from dark skin
and if she ever swam her limbs in the wind
she would run up to the pond
to catch the reflections changing with the hourly light.

Her home wouldn’t see harvest this year
as her father had been ill for months
that could only mean starvation for the family.

Bangshi followed her eye to the sky
autumn blue without a speck of cloud
but for a spot of rain gathering in a corner of his eye.

What if instead of selling the surplus
he shared it with Malini’s family?

.
The sun burns cold,
As the light of day is heavy.
Air, suffocates as we stride,
Filled rooms are empty,
To the soul set free.
Celebrate this living,
Wake into death,
Revel in the joy division
Of petrified choice.
Taste the one flavours
Of lime and water
As you tread on others
With feet waiting to crush.
Hear the birdsong  .  .  .
Not for you but the sun.

Lie amazed in the mobile,
Narcotic of the always
New, device and gizmo.
Break from same in a drug,
Especially designed,
Just for anyone, unneeded.
Tear down your dreams
As they slip into unwanted
Fingers never holding.
Take breaths, only after
They are ****** away,
In the stuns of the mediocre
Spectacles that blind.
Love the bodies who leave
Only their flesh to see.