She thinks she now needs
Mom to braid her pigtails.

She gets ready for school,
School, temple, whatever.

You don’t think she does?
Mom missing eighty years?

Exaggeration or whatever.
It was just about seventy.

Please take her to the loo
Or shadows thereabouts.

She is quite urgent about
Clothes change,whatever.


Small talk has them unmoved

Walls have ears we whisper in,
Such that everybody can hear

You see white walls have ears.
The walls are hard of hearing.

Small talk is a lyric truth prose
You whisper into a wall’s ears

They are our dog-eared books
Unmoved by talk, small or big.


Mixer whirs like earth on boil
But liquid tar smells as bread.

Bread smells like fresh poem
From thoughts of tar on boil.

Tar is bitumen off earth’s oil
From tree poems of long ago.

Old trees are a bread in tent
With holes to the sun on boil.

Sun bird in our balcony

We have a sun bird in balcony.
A bird who is brained enough

To try to build a season’s nest
On the hanging internet wire.

But certainly we cannot have
A feathered guest in balcony

A sun bird on the clothesline,
Like our underwear hanging.


Parijat flowers are making
In an ancient dew falling
Through a dark night sky,
To fall upside on red feet.

The white wet flowers are
Yet making ,in deep night,
To fall as white innocence
From the astonished sky.

Trash bell

Early morning, a trash van goes
On a brisk spring morning walk.

There are trash men who get at
The old poet’s morning poetry.

He who walks under blue of sky
Asks for whom a trash bell tolls.


Back when there were horses
Before their carts, there were

Horseshoes for luck in school
With no homework on backs .

The horses have since bolted
To the Himalayas where they

Now climb us to phallic gods.
We are spared a city journey

Of putting cart before horse.
We run cars on horse power

But wishes have not stopped
An equine run even for a day.