This must be for real? gasped the yellow budded calyx That must be true. Answered the wasp. Time for me to lapse into another – those petals. But which of you is for real? Questioned the bud again. Said the flying wasp as it drooped into a glum face, it’s me! why? Can’t you see? It’s time for me to shut low as the moon shifts and time moves into another blanket when I must close with the breeze. Oh!, so that’s for real?! exclaimed the yellow budded calyx who stood shiny, straight and watched from his plastic pistils. And with that an ant crawled up his slender straight back, nibbled at his stalk and with disgust exclaimed, ‘What! No taste!’
I sometimes use the pen name mina.laksh. I live between Mumbai and Nigeria and writing is a passion I can't seem to let go! Some short stories and poems have been published in literary magazines and some on line. A few: • Circle of Poets USA. (Edition 2004) ‘The howling wind’. • Literary Magazine, LEAVES (Bangalore base) first issue 2004, ‘Midnight dreams with dragon fly' • Cyberwit's international journal, (first edition 2004) anthology of International contemporary literature ‘It’s not happening’ • http://epicindia.com/magazine (mina laksh) (A literary magazine based in Canada) • the firstcut #2 & #3 (A literary magazine from Ireland) Have been an art curator promoting up and coming contemporary artists and until recently was a teacher in an I.B school in Nigeria. Jazz and opera are my boosters when I write. Just have to listen to music and hey I'm a "Pucca Bombay walli"
It was a freak accident of epithelium under anaesthesia. You place a window on to a hollow brain. The money makes the monkey out of you. A green light blocks the fish, your memory, to swim in black thoughts. The
Vane glorious and absolutistic, though I defiantly, cavalierly, and blithely attest Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy mine acidic breast houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic, barbaric, and bubonic cannibalistic demons within thy safely guarded Pandora chest atomic cesium clock timed to
I had a dream last night. It was very concise but interesting. Rather revelatory, but not prophetic in the usual way. There was a class with a facilitator encouraging input based on a lesson plan provided to the class. I,
Voltage charges power lines’ high wires All honest men die liers Her electric current runs tight by pliers My fires burn, they breathe, ash, and smoke Held so tightly I couldn’t help it my hand broke Shattered into a million