Distilled sun invades
to project on whitewashed screen their
chintzy-hotel love,
melding the serenading shades.

tropic afternoons
spent under her arctic glares
my dent on cosmos

I can't deny the allure of stability.

A red-brick house with a front porch and wooden pickets,
A mango tree with summer-drooping branches,
A spice garden in pitchers and pots.
The long corridor that runs to the living room,
The stairs lead up to the worldly roof.
Chiming winds curl the curtains on the windows,
Darkness recedes from south to north.
Where Your steps will echo in the rhythm of rain,
And where I'll be, drenched in your scent,
Reciting Tagore.

Ah!
What a life it'll be!
You, me and eternity.

I want it all and I want the road,
Sunsets, gasoline and upcoming bends.
My greed has never known bounds,
My hubris to get to you and get away.

Goliath intention
Glitters within reach on
Grecian hallowed ground; the
Girl forged by sweat and chalk
Greets the beam with pristine
Gainer flip, ready to
Grasp the world with her feat.

I

School bag, blue shirt, hair parted on the right,
Daal-rice, clock ticking away in delight;
Cycles stop, wagons with seasonal crop,
Get to her class before the gates shut tight.

II

The obsession froths beyond the eavesdrop,
Secrecy brews a moral of Aesop;
Friends don't yet know, the fear that the eyes show,
Grows the need to shout it from the rooftop.

III

Geography is boring, the maps tow
Useless details such as where's Kosovo;
It's all pretense, the absorption intense,
But her attention sets the world aglow.

IV

The wistful heart struggles to make some sense
And accept pain at misery's expense;
Then her comment, and the motives ferment,
The surging tide sweeps over the heart's fence.

V

Evening is drunk with sunlight, the day's spent,
Menthol erases the cigarette scent;
She fades from sight, the mundanities write,
A long ride back under the clouds' intent.

Framed by mankind her voice turned raw.
For toxins had tainted ambrosia
and festered in her child to gnaw
framed by mankind; her voice turned raw
in grief for deaths to come. She saw
in court why she must fight inertia.
Framed by mankind her voice turned raw
for toxins had tainted ambrosia.

Crackling mischief waxes every moon; Moon, the plaited devil
Three harvests blue, summits everest shelf to scrape out crunchy
Bliss, and scurries away, with exasperated steps in tow.