The bulbul and the worms
Six A.M. the bulbul arrived
Our backyard worms forgot
It was his breakfast time.
Short Poetry tweeted on the Twitter/Identica
The return of beauty
Beauty had cried in torrents
Of words bereft of thought
Till the blazing March sun
Beat history's scraggly stones
A midsummer celebration
Ensued with images galore
Beauty returned from the hills.
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Sunrise and flowers
In my nights of waiting
For sunrise and flowers
I look pain in the face.
I wake up bleary-eyed
Trying to catch beach suns
Before they turn white.
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The sun photographer
It is this luminosity, my dear,
Of the gilded leaves in the sun
The magic eye promptly catches
A silver flicker, a yellow transience.
A palliative to the chemical pain
In variously knotted entrails and
The reddish tinge in eye-whites.
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August sky
Clusters
of acacias that had grown
Waterless under the skin of the
earth
Spread their ghostly hair evenly
In the rainless ,
blazing August sky.
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The tree in darkness
The tree waited in the dark
Studded with white pearls
Of sleeping flamingos.
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Precursor of rain
Dark
liquid clouds
Coagulated around the moon
Drawing a nebulous
circle
Presaging silver rain .
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