Sunday, April 26, 2015

7 tanka

a rush of lava
rising up through my veins ...
God says
'try going down the stairs,
slowly stepping backwards '

trying to flee
from noxious fumes:
should the almighty
be sending his blessings
in the guise of bullets

the mountains,
mighty as they may be,
cannot drape themselves
with gold, as i can : boasts
the emperor, unclothed

your absence
beckons me to your warmth...
my fingers
dig deep into pockets
of cold silence

how bright
the sunshine
of yesterdays...
blinking fireflies
pierce the twilight gloom

immerse your self
in the symphony
of ocean waves--
watch the sun unfurl a day
at Vavathurai

he feeds pigeons
with tales from the past
from candid confessions
of autumn leaves

Crumbs of bread

On many a morning
crumbs of bread
litter his tablecloth

This is February
there is mist everywhere
above the river, on the shoulders
of old mountains

There is mist in his eyes too

How much warmth does it take
for the thawing
his heart melted and hardened
to a rock with iron-smoothness

He doesn't wish for moss to grow on it either

only his frail eyes fail to locate
the crumbs of bread on his table
too trifle to notice
yet too filthy for a clear soul
to neglect

3 haiku

our letters...
the bodies of
flightless birds

rainless storm--
not a word dropped
between us

for the flesh of houbara*
late autumn

[Note: *These desert birds are considered to be aphrodisiacs]

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