On a chilly dawnWhen the warm spray bite my skin sweetWhen the steam fills a tiny bathroom(Like your smell of lily and ginger and softnessDoes in my mind)A face emerge on the mirror against the contrast of the haze The two dot eyes and the lipstick stain (that makes sense now )beam back at me
Even the frozen clock face is correcttwicea daythey sayyet never the onethat counts the seconds wrongwithin it's gearsනැවතුනු ඔරලෝසුවත් නිවැරදිය දිනකට දෙවරක්එනමුදු වැරදිය සැමවිට හෝරා මුහුණහිතෙන් ගනින තත්පර ගාන වැරදුන
Years ago I did a photo haiku on a 31st December..This is take 2... a poem (a bad poem) in photos.Just before the year ends Buy a guitarWrite a love song Sing it with the crowdsrunning to watch the fireworks at 12 o oneSing it in the tube over the shrill of the breaks on the cold railEnd it on ...
So here goes . 7 images , 7 days.The plan is to click an image a day . Let them not be perfect . Shots taken with my phone camera. Still they are going to be images of my day. From inspiring geometric shapes that catch my eye to interesting people I see or even the last minute panic shots..Do ...
One day finally after many moons of begging pleading howlsit fellfrom the dark sheet ofthe nightspread across ripping the cloudyweilsSplotin to the ponds wherethe bull frogs reined A wolf wonders at what will he howlnow?
Universe is arinsed out sheet hung to dry on a clothes line(scars of evolution apparent on it’s well worn fabric)soaring in the ocean’s sigh then lull for a moment to catch it’s breathThe firefly’s a star , a galaxy, (even a super nova if you wish )crawling slowlyon the surface hung out to dry it’s feet stuck(all six of them ...
Instructions :Step 1:First click : hereStep 2: Play the clip . Step 3: Minimise the window and start reading the poem.Depth is what you do not see immediately at the surface (I tell you , as you plunge your toes in to the still waters )but lies beneath the calmthe lines of reasoningand mounds of information( No need to be ...
In every flocked formation "V"fleeing southaway from the chillybreath of winterthere is a goosedreaming of flying freeon her ownIn every midnight’sorchestraon a full moon nightin the shadow of the ancient onethere’s a cricketwanting to singhis own song
He always waited . He waited at the usual nook at the bus stop . Holding the brown paper bag carefully with two fingers , lest it gets crushed . She liked Rata Kaju .Many times he wondered whether she got late on purpose . Try to understand , try to see things from her perspective , try to forgive ...
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