The Sun-bird and the Fruit-bat

the purple sun-bird
with the sun
glinting off it's
beautiful back
came this morning
carefully fluttered
it's tiny wings
pushed it's
long lovey beak
into the banana flower
drank it's juices
and flew away...

the black fruit-bat
washed and wet
with the monsoon
shining it's beady eyes
came this evening
carefully settled
it's webby wings
opened his
tiny tiny mouth
put it to the banana flower
drank it's juices
and flew away...

Morning at the bus-stop

Helicopters,
we said;
in school.
I tell her,
Dragon Flies.
Black, Red, Orange and yellow.
Wild Zinnias,
brilliant orange;
bordering on crimson.
Mushrooms white,
mushrooming;
under a tree,
and on it.
A Buffalo
black and grey,
led by a farmer;
in white pajamas,
and Gandhi cap,
comes,
goes in,
through the gate,
where the vet awaits.
The school bus,
brilliant yellow,
with green letters;
is already here.
Bye bye dear,
have a fun day,
at school.

Alamander

A new fellow
Is my friend
Bright yellow
At the garden's end

It's name is Alamander
Said my mum to me today,
"A creeper, very tender"
Makes the fence very gay!

Sunny flowers
Within fresh green
Rejoice in the showers
Oh! they almost preen!

Is it?

in silos
living and dying
death of humans
death of ideas
death of thought
death of a discipline
there is no stopping
knowledge
it flows
in institutes
and universities
out of them
and into
many a times
without
through teachers
and students
and those
who aren't
called either
then and now
and forever
sometimes
it gets
documented
other times
it's lost
once in
a while
it takes
us forward
it adds
and takes
us to
the answer
is it
still 42?

Afternoons

Afternoons
L o n g W i n d i n g
HOT and sweaty
Midway
Between
Morn and Night
Oh, so right
Just the time
For a bit of rhyme
And a sweet kiss
Should not be missed

Build the anticipation
For a bit of fornication...

What difference?

The world remains the same
Just tiny disturbances,
that too, on the surface.
What difference if she
decides this or that;
What will happen if
She chooses a scarf over a hat?

Words go round

Words go round and round and round
Sometimes it's as if they hound
Rarely can I pen them down
But they don't evoke, a smile or frown...

They fight for space, a chance to live
But they have, no peace to give
Is it a malady well known
Or just me who's crazy grown...