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Dark ,wet leaves part for my lantern. I hear
the hushed applause of rain on leaves,and
follow the welcome carpet of light unrolled
from the open door across the soft grass. Smoke
pours down from the chimney to embrace me.
Wet leaves cling to my shoes. Two rabbits
dance back and forth like happy children
and a face pale as the moon peers from
the door in greeting
appeared in' Indian P.E.N'. literary monthly P E N International  Bombay edition Editor: Nissim Ezekiel-- Sept 1996 issue
'Triveni'lit and cultural quarterly Machilipatnam Jan-March 1982
Their togetherness had become an island,
surrounded by strange waters .She contributes
to its noise unendingly.He often makes grand,
defiant gestures withering away like luckless roots.

Only a ruthless need survives.Years
have turned dreams into plain consolations.
Even hope is a necessary drudgery.Fears
grow like parasites on their passions.

Yet a reluctance persists-- reluctance to expand,
the turbulence or claim of waters does not surprise,
some playful waves struggle to the sand,
watching them, they become unconcerned, as the skies

Should they be called happy? The question
sounds hollow.They have raised walls
around their beings, a happy captivity of the sun,
while their lives dance as dolls immaculate
published in Indian Literature' journal of Sahitya Akademi July-Aug 1986-New Delhi
When her husband glances at me;
I observe tiny highlights of speculation
glittering on the treacherous
surface of his intelligence.
My open smile defuses him.
He blast the ready pores of his suspicion,
of course her animation appeals
to other men: she's attractive,
high-spirited in conversation.
But my pleasure find
new edge to the tale of an axe
returned sharper than it was.
appeared in' New Quest' July -August 1986:Editors_ A B Shah & M P Rege-
When she died,
I thought I'd just grow old
Shutting myself in the old house
alone,with memories and the mirror
that she had looked in one bright day
like gold in the miser's chest.
published in 'Illustrated Weekly of India ; Guest Editor;Nissim Ezekiel, October 1984 / Times of India publication-Bombay
The birds fly away from  the evergreen pines
As I stir out of bed
And open the window to see
The mountains still asleep
Behind the thick veil of fog.

I fix the binoculars,
Adjust the lenses
Pierce through them
And lo, the mountains now seem awake:

They glide on the wide plains.
A hide-and seek goes on between us;
Till the start of the rain
When the vision melts,
Like the words of love
The time will wear slowly away.
published in 'Indian Literature'[Sahitya Akademi-New Delhi] journal in March-April 1981

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