Abhay Lodha

Longer days and shorter nights,
Darker shades and brighter lights.
Louder music and wilder friends,
No need for pencils, no need for pens!
...

I keep on dying again.

Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
...

This saying good-by on the edge of the dark
And the cold to an orchard so young in the bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
An orchard away at the end of the farm
...

Flying high in my feelings
fearless and breathing
distorted and jaded
memories faded
...

When Love was born of heavenly line,
What dire intrigues disturbed Cythera's joy!
Till Venus cried, 'A mother's heart is mine;
None but myself shall nurse my boy, '
...

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
...