White
White is my colour sublime
bright
Probably because I was a child of
A misty white morning wet in dew
Or perhaps white makes me light
My white mind plays with white words
White holds the colourscape of all
Miracles of possibilities sing shower
A shower of carnival of colours
I paint with white moonlike landscape
Holding all I bear no weight
My musical notations written in white
I borrow more of what is less
I paint in white delicate smooth
Here where I stand with white marbles
I make words dance in colours wearing white
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Babushka Dream
A dream in a babushka dream
That holds the dewlike sound
The sound sweeter than honey
And it opens up like a red rose slowly becoming
And an infinite range of colours rain
A magical tropical coloured rain
In the dream I get delicately wet
A dream in a babushka dream
I got dew wet-dew that is colours
I got wet all over by rain of music
I feel I am sitting on spring wet grass
And my hands hold life all diamond under my palms
The sound painted in colours
And designed by music soft
Yet it is dew touched warm and wet
A dream of a poem in a babushka dream
I had a few moments of incalculable joys
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to Top
Here Monotone is
the Music
Stuck midway
Between here and there
With a name unfitting
Sounding differential calculuslike
I receive polite turn downs
And thank in return for the kindness
Why am I here!
I wonder-too late
To register an answer
Never needed a passport
Yet had to have one
Being in the light of politeness
I see so many faces
Faces behind the masks
Stuck midway
Between here and there
"Can you help at all?"
I hear a polite response
Decorated well by well used words
"Could you write your request
To Mr Bernard Smith
At the White Cottage
Subject line: colours."
Stuck midway
Between home and homelessness
I thank in return with words
And wrap them in polite envelopes
Here monotone is the music
Yet I cannot sing it for I am multitone
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Spelling the Time
Without a Dictionary
What am I doing here?
In the cold freeze?
What exactly am I doing here
In this land of nothingness
Transformed into dead cactus
In a dead desert
That has not seen rain
For eight million years?
The question
Stuck in my throat
Like the bone
In the throat of the tiger
I cannot swallow it
Nor can I spit it out
Here I am
Waiting
Spelling the time
Without a dictionary
Speaking French
Without knowing a word of French
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Raaneem a Wonder
Held between my palms
Wrapped in the sparkles of my eyes
She appeared a scarlet rose bud
A wonder- a miracle breathing
With a pair of tiny little eyes
Searching the lit big world
Held between my palms
Clothed in my prayers and love
Tears photographed her little face
She is my Raaneem scarlet rose bud
A wonder-a miracle crying
Held between my palms
Delicate little hands moving
Holding my finger with her fingers
I felt connected to heaven
That felt soft warm and cool
And I wrote a name in my heart
Raaneem a wonder-a miracle opening
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Spring is the Dance
of Magic Becoming
At the edge of winter
Painted with dry grey expectations
In a mode of silent prayer
The mute trees and bushes stood vase like
They stood in their millions spread across
The landscape all bare and bold
Yet they look like millions of vases
Made out of dried flowers on branches and twigs
All they did all winter was
Put in grey lipstick on
And extend the wait like Dhraupadi's saree
That could almost reach and bring forth the spring
In one night's magical touch unfelt and unsounded
In their dreams of becoming in the Eden of musical green
They have been touched alive and morning kissed them
Spring has dressed up green Aphrodite who dances in the wind
City Squirrel sits on the city wall with star-sparkle eyes
Smiling scented budding leaves begin a child fight
Fight between yellow and green green or yellow
And confusion produces a green that makes hearts stop a beat
All the trees and bushes illuminate spring vases sway in the wind
A state of becoming starts to unfold while the world begins again
Ecstasy bound birds and bees and fauna and flora sing in unison
Resulting yellow and green battling out their way into becoming
In my words I sing the spring and its colours of becoming
In my colours of words I paint the music of spring
In my notes of words I write the music of magic and shine
Spring is the dance of magic becoming colours evolving
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