Carried On Your Bicycle


One fine and wintry day at noon, and I to horrors all immune
Sat upon your cycle that rolled, that rolled on down the barren street.
I filled the frame behind your seat, and lifted up my precious feet
To set the bicycle to roll, to roll on down the barren street.
And while it strolled the street at noon, alike the lighter air-balloon
 It strolled the streets all way to June.

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In Apology


If apologies were butterflies
Fluttering into a sunny haze, lost
Under burning trees, reflected from skies
On mirroring rivulets — and thus cost
Nothing, save your lovely smile, shimmering
Over a lovely smile — mirrored again.
When, thus down on my knees I sit, wishing
That you smile on my faults — perhaps then
Am I absolved of my wrongs, forgiven
As the butterflies hide in the flames.

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Dogs On The Train


This is the wrong side of the tracks
Where as children, we would walk on the rails
Balancing
Both ourselves and the affairs of our world
With careless abandon,
With joy of anonymity,
And with little knowledge of things —
The pointed edges of our flying wings
Flapping like those of merry birds.

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The Death Of Peacocks


Dear Friends! In modest tones, I hereby speak
Of certain deaths of birds of vibrant hues.
A little while ago, I saw them fly
Discreetly out of cages which trapped them
In lives of bondage — free, to roam the sky.
The sun that burnt their magnificent plumes
Could NOT, in death, ensnare their cherished cries
Unspoken — felt by crows who, newly here,
Could see no tinge of freedom; on each bough
Now hung a noose for any erring crow.

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Larger Than Life


One grey day, an ashen street oversaw our tryst;
The ripples we made in the water spread afar.
This stillness of our lives challenged by whistling lips,
Succumbed to shuffling feet, succumbed to lazy cheer.
Like pigeons in the town whom no cages may hold —
And the footsteps we traced would be encased in gold.

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Negative Space


Many a full moon fell from the murky skies
Frequently accompanied by the fleeting stars;
Here, as my vain feathers screeched on mellowing lines,
A few wayward teardrops blurred their receding marks,
And lightly, through dusty hourglasses Time ran out
Obscuring words- words that would never again count.

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My Thoughts At His Funeral


Perspective distorts; thus shrouded in robes
Professing dreams of life, my neighbour died
In sleep. Relinquishing all assumed roles
In society, shrouded in death, he lied
On a deathbed professing dreams; his wife
In tears inconclusive, with cheeks moistened
In mirth or strife; moistened for want of life,
Moistened just, but alive; all friends reasoned
That this death in sleep saved him pain; dying
In dreams is painless; but it’s just dying.

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