New Poems

The smoky mist is wide and deep,
The wind’s a child awake from sleep;
A mother bear with baby cubs,
I watch in love through tangled shrubs.
 
Now wandering, I chase the clouds
Up here, away from city crowds,
But still I think of you that day,
Your eyes a lake, the moon at play.

He swims a sea of dark red wine
To drink the hours, soft and sweet,
And wash away the jeweled vine
Alone, beside a narrow street.
 
In spring the birds shall flit about,
As nighttime feasts can last till dawn;
But then he’ll lift his head and shout,
A wolf astray that’s too far gone.

I could've been nothing soul undone,
But I had a calling, a meaning, a function.
I had to get better I believe in significance,
And I'm well aware that genius is a universe, some might say.
It is rumoured that the minute you are satisfied is when you fade away

I stumbled forward,
The door was open,
I slid headfirst into the deepest, darkest ocean.
Suddenly exposed like a firefly in the night,
But feeling the fire within,
I've suddenly worked out there's a storm underneath my skin.

 
In her layette, she looked fair.
‘Nimisha’, the parents called her.
When aged five, the polio plucked
the strings that her legs moved.
As a stringless violin, her legs rest.
In the wheelchair, she grows up
along with her mother’s tension
and the father’s anxieties.
 
The rustic children wish her,
but nobody takes her
to the festival
in a shrine rural.
She wears new dress
but as the butterflies in her frock,
she also cannot flit
to the shrine yard.
 
Cough waves, today also,

"The Beach"

Living in the splendor of this city,
With all the wealth on short display;
Spring is blooming now, but some will pity
Summer’s heat and winter’s gray.
 
Leaves will fade in time to yellow from green,
Dried up too soon, and blown away,
Until the Arctic chill comes down unseen
In a season with its own decay.
 
Outside, in light, I feel the sun’s warm love,
And in the dark, a moonlit sigh;
Memories once buried, now brought above,
Like birds that fly the midnight sky.
 

I am not a poet.