I grew up
In the fields of Casuarina trees,
Listening to the tales
Of Frog and the Nightingale,
Reading fishy story by the lake,
And losing sleep at the thought of
Monkey's paw,
Wondering how pretty
Would have been
The dame in Le belle dame sans merci,

I wish I could go back to those pages,
Relish the treasure trove of stories
And the music of golden lyre again.

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Tonight, I wish tiny Seraphs
Tap me with their magic wand
So I wake up like a dandelion
Spilling sonnets and couplets.

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Poems sprout in me,
Like odes and ballads,
As I live
In the pages
Of fairy tales
You wrote for me

-

Release me into the wilderness
Let me feel the chill of grass
Under my feet.
And please don't call me back into
The safety of tiles.
Love, for me is air on my hair
And dew drops on my skin
Don't deny me them
For the fear of fever

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Who are those who get goosebumps in the midst of chaos and smile in the midst of traffic? Maybe writers!

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Oh! How I miss the randomness
of silly things,
being the opener of my poems!!

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The colours assigned themselves
Into rainbows and poured on me as poetry
As I rearranged words into
My favourites

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You are the human figure,
Where the magic of nature and art
Makes the golden proportion

-

They asked me,
"How much does he love you?"

And I replied,
"I am a new born
and
He is my mom"

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I despise what Sunday night brings

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