Grass notes

On the morning of bedewed grass
My bare walk hardly leaves notes,

Only bird notes, from park trees.
The grass cowers in a wet silence,

But raises heads once in a while.
Its wetness tingles an underfoot.

A painful thorn peeps sometimes
From shadows hid in self-respect.

A noisy nose on the green bench
Dumps a breath of fresh dirty air

But takes much more of green air.
A broken lawn-mower lies listless

Throwing up its hands in despair
Powerless to cut its pride to size.

Cold feet barely manage to sink
In its bleary top submissiveness

Moving away in numb pantlegs
Before park sprinkler gets them.

Chariot on a bean-leaf

The sun’s fiery chariot swiftly moves
Towards equinox, against our  thing

In backyard, a cross-square of twigs
That turns a chariot on a bean leaf .

Our rice and milk ,stewed in smoke
Tastes exquisite, like his warm gold

Of morning rays on wintered body.
We love our sun but can’t see him

With naked eyes ,except in smoke
When he is eaten up by our earth.


(Today is the Rath Saptami (a Hindu festival linked to sun-worship) , the seventh day following the Sun’s northerly movement of vernal equinox, starting from the Capricorn.-beginning of spring.The day is also believed to be the day on which the sun was born)

River island

The river’s night echoed
with tourist noise
That would settle down
to bottom of night.
A black dog lay curled up
to a human corner.

The river is not all that
recent of ripples.
It had come from far
memories of mountain
And is curled up like
black dog around island.

(on a visit to the River island of Bhavanilanka in Krishna river)


Dark is essence of things, a thingness
Itself held by scruff by incoming train .
Train brings its darkness from places.

Dark falls as rain drops on moss map
A dark that comes from an outer sky
To beat a moss map into submission.

Rain is the dark thing held by  train
Or coconuts that have lost the moon
From hair, in the night’s rain dance.