Unheeded Thoughts

Here I sit on this chair –

With thoughts, thoughts that do not seem fair;

Still, I wonder, where are my good and humble thoughts?

Oh, they have been lifted away – like the rain lifts the summer draught.

 

When I became a tree, no bird ever came to me.

 

The traffic light turns green – I chose to stay.

 

The trees are waiting for the monsoon – like I wait for you, in the long, lonely hours of noon.

 

 

An excerpt from an ongoing writing

The night saw many stars in the sky – all shining brightly. The owls sitting on the tree tops hooted to the bright moon, and soon another hoot from a neighbouring tree would follow, and another, and more. A mole scurried off through the cool summer grass and dug up a small hole near a bush in the garden, not much away from the place where the dog was digging earlier in the evening. The mole stood up on his hind legs, looked around, stared at a moving bush for some time, and then continued to his desired destination, a destination unknown, and rather strange.

The moon shines bright, in the glorious night,

Through the trees and upon the fields.

To the beholder of the acknowledging sight,

Oh, what emotions does it yield.

 

A moment is spent with acknowledged sadness,

Immersed in piercing memory – engulfed by pain;

Another reminds of a fond memory,

In the evenings spent in the rain.

 

In a destination rather unknown, and strange,

Something approaches the bay;

Something that is brightly lit in the memories of a lost love,

But dimmed by the bright sun, on the horizon that lay.

Possessions of mine

I have a gas balloon,

That drinks from a giant spoon,

And flies away when someone’s watching it –

Would you fly in it?

 

I have a car,

That goes round, and round in a jar,

Inside it is hot, and dark –

Would you sit inside and drive it?

 

I have a hen,

A hen that never lays eggs,

But cackles raucously all night and keeps everyone awake –

On a plate, would you like it?

 

I have a lamb,

Who looks at the moon,

And then at you in utter gloom, in winters and monsoon,

In a full-moon night, on the way home, would you guide it?