Amogha and I

In one most beautiful moment
I looked at the butterfly..
her monotonous yellow
broken by the hue of the blue sky

In one most beautiful moment
I saw that small leaf swayed by the wind
her nascent green
bordered by the leaf that turned purple
just yesterday

In one most beautiful moment
I saw my child
its tender pink..
bordered in my wrinkled brown

Canvas

May I paint you?
In hues of splendid yellows
Handsome oranges
and
a breeze of lavender?

May I gently run
the brush I call my destiny
through pastel greens
and then draw
streams of purity
to flow through you? that
the gloom these eyes hold
through living a human life
may one day
breathe the sweet smell
of wildflowers i drew on you

I drew life!
in a riot of colours
and left
the bottle of black paint over it
to hold it against the winds....

motherhood

Defined.

Responsibility
Attention
Selflessness
Expectation

Joy.

Overrated-
rebirth
selflessness

I am
a mother.

overrated,
manipulative,
million agendas,
and the successful victim

random

The remnants of a thought linger on like dust after a truck passed by.
I assimilate these as I turn away

this heart is a strange thing
she desires and reaches out
she wears not a cloak to protect
she holds not a shield
yet, when she comes to sense
what is not hers
she breathes a cloud of moist air
and saunters back
to beat gently back to her blissful stepping rhythm

arrivals

crowded platforms
unknown travellers
one wonders if the journey is the same.
all that is left of my privacy
is the mind.
Its that train:
the one that should have been here
an hour? a day? a week? or years back?
i watch time
move solemnly, unfazed,
likewise my thoughts
of that arrival.
jostled, pushed:
struggling for the tissue
in that bag:
lost among the million
people? hopes?
i wonder
is this it?
the last parcel in the mail van?

first love

Its raining
gently falling
from leaves
on to window panes

Streaks of lightning
illuminate
an otherwise inconspicuous million

I can feel them
when they noisily
touch a starved earth
and she suckles
like an infant
its mother's bosom

I hear the clock
and my voice
endlessly conversing
with a distant you

wish you were here
beside me
listening
to these noisy raindrops
the occasional thunder
distant traffic
the egotistic clock