First light

The fine hair

on the reeds

the delicate drops

of dew

on the bamboo leaf

the flurry of feathers

on birds’ underbellies

the clouds engaged

in erotic embrace

your eyes

my eyes

all catch

this first light

this first warm kiss

between

earth and sky…

Everyday magic

If you look long enough

into this magic tree

that’s taken root outside my window

here’s what you will see –

a lattice of leaves

transform mid-morning

into starry sky….

Street sounds,

motorcar horns

become

the musical clip-clop

of a horse…

cruel smoke and smog

filter through

as shape-shifting stardust…

and tears charmed

right out of my eyes

to become

drops of dew, drops of rain

on the leaves’ undersides…  

Lunar love

Astronomers, scientists

and all other rationalists

have ruined

celestial love!

By calling it ‘occultation’

and observing it

with telescopes

and other instruments

that measure distances

between the two lovers

 – Moon and Venus

they were, last night

drawing close

in slow seduction

until she lay

beneath him, above him

tongues and limbs intertwined

united in love…

Watch, if you will

but with love

and respect

for a sacred amour

Be a voyeur, if you will

But please,

not a data-notching scientist!

If god were a taste…

Gold and green

sweet and sharp

wilful, aromatic

what is that?

mango…

Cooked or crushed

what flavours

chutneys, pickles and sweets

of which fruit

do I speak?

mango…

Whose tart taste

spiced childhood dreams

whose tang

lives in tastebuds

and in memories

that itch

under skin?

mango…

What is revered with

a million names

what nourishes souls

unravels conundrums

gives it all?

No, not god…

Mango!

Poet tree

In the ugliness

of concrete and tar

of greed and lies

of unforgiving city life

stands this silent

yogi of a tree.

It blossoms

in peak summer

in harshest weather

soaking in

punishing heat

emanating

cool, yellow shade.

Its blossoms’ brightness

fades every day

deepens every night.

And when

a gust of cool wind

loses its way

and blows into my room

the yogi tree

sends along

some leaves

some blossoms

– its own inspired poetry ….