Runway 77
Every so often, you think, the power to choose is a birthright, And so you set about, trying to separate the day from night, Only to realise that, in order to appreciate the light, You need to sometimes sacrifice your
Final Stand
Silently we sit, staring down at the menu on the table, The gaze is firm, but the mind is not yet stable, In one quick scoop, our hands desperately grab, Holding down the menu, I let my modesty take a
Open Window
I open my eyes, with very vague memories of last night, And find the hazy glow of the morning’s soft bouncy light, The sharpening light throws focus on millions of particles of dust, Each particle resembling the fragments of my
Strangers Again
Not long after monsoon bid its last droplet goodbye, Uninvited, unexpectedly, you happened to come by, Looking out for someone, who definitely wasn’t me, Politely reminding me, to not bother, just let you be. But time is a trickster, so
Cannibal
For a second, all seems quiet in this primeval forest, But only a second, silence is something they all detest, Each to itself, noise is their only music, their only protest, For, asking for understanding, is too formidable a request.