Saturday, 30 June 2007
Monday, 18 June 2007
i became monday
On a grayish green Monday, the afternoon is just one bird’s chirping.
Senseless sound with a pointless rhythm Every now and then a big vehicle gurgles by, clearing its throat at the congested, narrow street. Every now a surprised cycle tinkles and then quiet gets reinstalled…
every now
and then on a reasonless Monday, the sun is slowly departing.
Few stray strands of winter have slipped out to caress…..face, neck, hands and feet
The sun is an imposition. Makes you aware of your skin….the sun is of skin, the winter of sensations.
The sun is an imposition, the winter a penchant, every
now and then on a crawling, turtle Monday…there’s nothing to do but sit quietly and get accessed
by irritating birds, coughing trucks, wisps of new weather
Sunday, 17 June 2007
beat adam to it
he wants me to write
12 pieces on Home
in 45 days
few if can happen on Rain and Solitude
ok
I will
soon
Right now it’s an apple Sunday
Fruity and just the right amount of sweetness
It’s finger itch time, but I can’t place finger on thought
An elusive, this emotion
It offers, doesn’t give
Tease
i'll go ahead and enjoy the fruit
for now
Monday, 4 June 2007
sprinkle
Flowers in their fall
If I could fall like them
I’d fall
One thousand petals of pink delight
Down on a five-minute long painting
Of a dark, naked, dirty children filled street
I'll fall
The gush-sigh filled moments of a day, everyday. It’s a brimful to laugh with those children throwing flowers at each other. One little boy wore a fountain-ponytail, he squealed at me when I tugged his hair. He squealed n ran away, my heartache!!!
These moments….a painting.
No one will buy it, no wall will wear it, no one’ll ever again see it
But when I smile again tomorrow
It’ll be because the flowers moved me today
Sometimes it feels…I don’t catch up with life simply because I refuse to stand still.
Refuse to stand still and watch the flowers play with the children
Stand still and laugh with them in their dance
Stand still and be a part of the painting
Scratched in the breeze, brushed in the air, sketched in sudden streets
No one will buy it, no wall will wear it, no one’ll ever again see it
But
When I smile again tomorrow
It will be because of this moment today