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Confession

I may not have done this
if you had, held me close
for a moment or so
before walking away into
the chores of indifference

Leaves holding on to the wind
before the fall.

The morning dew,
droplets of diamonds
On my face, pale white.

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The Hour Before You Commit Suicide

The hour before you commit suicide
Think of, red flowers.
Buddhist monks.
Magic seeds, like rain on your face.
Flags, revolutions, flying high.
Dancers in red.
Autumn.
Think of, the setting sky
and the red sea.
Fallen roses.
Lips dried up, like parched land.
The red of your veins,
like a river, dead
with no rivulets.
And, the red planet
like another time.
You see,
the sindhoor bath
of the goddess, in gold.
The red flowing out
from a million cuts.
The red earth,
holding the female red
as if a baby sacrificed at the altar.
And now, you realize,
The red leaving the borders
like the words you left unsaid.
You hang
Swaying in the breeze
like a bridal wear left to dry.
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Grandma

Seventy five summers
weighed down on her
as she stepped out
of the home
he was laid to rest.

Not a drop could contain
the sea, she left to dry
Reminiscences
now lost to termites
and her progenies other worlds

She, the alien
to be forsaken, earnestly.
Her hunched values,
broken limbs, sagging breasts
and vague senses

The door, closed
behind her.

Silence
the gaze
wind, and
the road.
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