In Praise of Slowness

Because time is not a
Super highway, not even a
Road. It’s the mist that rolls

Over mountains when one
Cares to notice. Drink it like

A flu patient does chicken broth.

Learn to watch like
The robin does, letting an
Entire universe unfold

Within while eying
A single worm. Listen to the
radio as it rebukes you.

It’s the friend you
Forsook, like paper and postage
Stamps did letters.

Discard the rust of
Ambition for the never-fading
Sheen of idleness.

Like the chirping of birds in
Spring, reserve all your haste
For love alone.

First published in Madras Courier

Day’s End

The evening adjusts the hem
of her smooth rose wine
stole. You and I move
to the back porch. The sky
flushes to allure us with its
pink. But work and all that
went wrong with it take their
toll.

Bird wings hustle. Soon it will
be dark. We’ll pick up our
half-sipped glasses of
wine. When the day’s fatigue,
its taunts, its grime start
sinking us, the evening’s
blush will still leave its
mark.

Dear Spring

DSC_1092

You might hide behind the clouds
and sprinkle snow in place of sun
But the birds, they can see you fine,
come out, there is no place to run.

True, the trees are still all bare
and the ground is missing shades of green,
but birdcalls herald happy tidings
and sing aloud, “Spring is in!”

Seize this day while you can
show us how to make it right
the things you need are easy enough,
tulips, fresh sprigs and sunlight.