Sun with its golden curls was peeping in
Horizon to horizon, the orange shade deepened 
The red portico tiles glistened in the glow
Like polka dots on satin
Fair impressions lay scattered in the front yard
The queen of night, had shed tears of sorrow
Were they embarrassed?
The orange blush was palpable
I retrieve them
As the flower decoration progressed on the red tiles
A new identity was being evolved
The existential crisis, has been allayed 
At least for this day.

An Existential Crisis

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