Paper Planes
“Aswath”, he said, when I asked his name, hesitant, Soon some of his friends join, equally reluctant, The closer they got, the more I could sense a distance, But I was sure I would soon overcome the resistance. The bag
Petunias
Flowering by the roadside, beside the softest footfall, Towering before you, along the lengths of many a wall, Violets, pinks, whites, blues, more colours than you can call, And yet, seen and unknown, like the spring in every fall. The
Sunflower
Very few acknowledge that the day really begins at night, At the stroke of midnight, the wings of morning take flight, Leaving darkness behind, for the resplendence of the sun, And dejection too finally gives way, to the possibilities of
Tranquility
Soft and inquiring, like the chirping of the first bird, Slowly joined by others, yet soft, as if almost never heard, That is all I can remember about your first word, There were more important things that then occurred. At
Goodbye
When the words come to an end, there is no sentence left, When the memories come to an end, there is no thought left, When the feelings come to an end, there is no emotion left, When this love comes