Flying

See sky
Slip-slide
Deep blue
Follow through
Rain cloud
Grey shrouds
Swing-along
Swallow song
Skip-step
Hurtle-neck
High-low
Curving slow
Gentle rise
Bumpy turn
Sharp pull
Ear full
Wafty white
Water strays
Floating by
Sailing sails
Window soon
Waning moon
Eagle soar
Tumble-pour
Spin around
Thrown about
Up and down
Washed in
Washed out
Whiplash rain
Ice and grain
Too quick
Window sill
Too slow
Curve and go
Mis.Step
Plunge and fell
Picking up
Winding through
High Noon
Low Moon
Out and out
Shining stars
Straight back fall
Plunging far
Spin away
Away. Away
Reach for sky.
And ground.
And there.

Bangalore Junes

Mornings and evenings and mornings and evenings

That strange sort of melancholy you only find when it rains

Stored away doings - some crumbled to rubbles

Some drenched in the smell of what-we-cooked-yesterday.

Sun is precious, and filtered and processed

And seeps in through sieves, stretched across the windows

And time is precious, and filtered and processed

But too much or too little - that nobody knows.

Replayed and re-run, and re-heard and re-spun

To speak is to repeat, and nothing is new

Between changing watches and the next batch of dishes

Twenty nine hours of nothing is due

Nothings have piled up like laundry in stacks

And laundry has piled up like yoga on mats

And mats are all rolled up in dusty old corners

Misplaced brooms and discount packs.