A long time ago I walked this path
Its cracks and holes narrate grey tales.
A long time ago I watched this road
While the sun gently poured its gold.
A long time ago I saw the end
When the colours of the winds were not dead.

Green.
That peeks through my window
and craddles me to sleep.
Green.
That caresses my hair and whispers sweet.

Green.
That sips the vibrant rain
and drinks the dew deep.

Green.
I seek your blood that accepts no creed.
Green, I live.
Green, I bleed.
Green, I find no color so keen.

It explains
All childhood gains
The damp soil and people all plain
How easy was it to obtain
Fritter, butter, tea , paratha on a plate
And the gentle smile gone not in vain
Of weak limbs and sight living their tales
A sudden flash and all is blind
A slight whisper and all is behind.

I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **

O ! Dazzling rays of the sun
Embrace the air
And say the words
I have seen the light
hovering above lilies
And my reflection on water
Shivering and quivering
The path I stand on provides me the shelter
To hold no past , to await no future
I rise up again
With every morning I speak
I come in peace and prosperity

You say
that you're hurt.
That you seek
a fair choice.
Dear one,
even a flower wilts.
When the sun undresses it,
desperate for the maniacal love making;
and the bees **** the honey.
The petals turn dry
when the nectar leaves.
And so it rests on the ground.
Open and wasted;
thus enjoys an eternal sleep.