friday midnight
the twelfth
chaitra
. . .
“the cool spring breeze
crooked and meandering
comes to me.”
issa
everyday, countless leaves are falling
from the rudra palash tree outside my window.
last week, i spotted a squirrel prancing about its bare branches.
yesterday a pair of grey hornbills came visiting.
this afternoon, i hear someone downstairs sweeping away the littered leaves.
in my head i make lyrics of my everyday, all the time.
as if i’m living life in sentences. words that often don’t reach paper or keyboard.
i put them off and try to recall them later, sometimes they come back,
but mostly disperse into my being like breath.
after days and days of insufferable heat,
today, the world feels bearable in the company of the april sun.
the windowsill is lush with new bougainvillea leaves and pink florets blooming between them.
she flits all through the house like a bee - talking, laughing, skipping and
sometimes dancing. two sentences here, seven there,
and twelve more scattered like crumbs in the air.
we’re driving over a bridge with the sea under us and an endless sky above.
i see a gibbous moon rising through the windscreen and two stars twinkling in the soft blue sky.
instinctively i turn around, and catch a tangerine sun disappearing over the water’s edge.
evenings - one of the most beautiful gifts of the universe.
as years grow on, i cry so very little.
the hurt feels regular but tears don’t.
i miss being able to cry as much as my heart feels.
. . .