Its touch so sensuous
Its eyes drawing me into itself
Its body snuggling in mine
Rousing a passion yet unknown
A grain of rice
In the cooking pot
Cries, 'I wish
He was as old as my grandfather and I, just twelve.
Marriage meant nothing to me, not even a new cheeram.
He lived in penance and I, just a little child, tended the aashram,
Never cared for, not even acknowledged of my existence.
(This is a small poem written years back for my daughter, when she was still a kid.)
'Why Sunday? '
My daughter asked.
'Vinaa dainyena Jeevitam
what the ascetics of the yore
In India dreamt of, always.
When you see a silver lining in the sky
just look for the dark cloud
that it encircles, ready to break
into a thunderous shower.
The goddess of the longest nights
Of the netherworld Hades
My days she invades!