The closet

Subtle like drizzle,
Catchers on rainbows
Where dreams fly under

Shining in a closet
A stone
Golden with age

The time is right

Drinking to tomorrow,
Yesterday in a spoon
left in a corner

Talking to elms

Walking by the trees
the necklace of the sky
glitters like windows
with shocked eyes

the water in puddles
lies dead like sleep
somewhere nearby,
a dream shivers quietly

The wolves in his lines

Over red clay
a writer fumbles
his words,
rich they seem
like the rain in his lap
shouting at mountains
the wolves in his hands

Left Blue

by brown and cream trains
red BEST buses
I travel in black and yellow autorickshaws
taxis
through the neon burning
red green orange fluorescent
pink
and think how much the withered darkness holds…
the fractured stars’ sob stories…
that disturb the golden sand
dreaming at night.

Equinox

They say,the Spring is here
nay,not true!
they talk of equal days,equal nights
and yet,disparity is all over the place

straight lines

an old man sits, singing at
the break of dawn,pulling
the sun with his hands
that take him places

His days have been spent
rolling wheels and the nights, rolling over
death hangs from the rooftop
pouting at the heads below

He looks up every night
like a bent tree waiting to grow
to the sky