Crisp eucalyptus leaves Pale green, redolent with a spicy aroma Some just shards of the palest beige A fragrant carpet underfoot With every step and every breath.
Perched on the branch Of the lichee tree Rough barked Black ants tickling my arms As they scurry away. Glossy leaves And the heavenly taste of unripe fruit Achingly sour, sticky, delicious A heavenly refuge from stifling afternoons.
Guavas, bright green, Firm, but out of reach Branches too fragile to climb Close enough to pull down to my scrabbling fingers.
A bird bath on the lawn Bird seeds scattered around the edges While we crouch behind the hedge As the fan tailed flycatcher Alights in a flutter of graceful black and white.
Just memories of Doon afternoons? Or a place my mind returns to When city lights and sounds Crowd my mind.
Looking at how vibrantly the tree’s leaves dance. Swaying side to side. Side by side. I watch the cars driving sorta fast up and down the street. The breeze have picked up some. Quite cool this afternoon is this Sunday’s
I get these weird reading pangs, as Monday afternoon awkwardly hangs. Kafka’s letter to his dad Morrison makes me ‘oh so sad’ Amitav Ghosh and his brain stirring images “Poetry undergoing new-lingo damages” Four gulps of water and a (micro)soft