Poetry

Simple light I assume, I needed
nothing more, nothing less:
as I felt tired under the battered shade of a
tamarind tree.

Sour sweet pulp, sticky and acidic
life had held me by throat;
and I sang like a blue bird
in a golden cage.

The voice in me was different
neither of a stricken lamb,
nor of a green childhood
but a roaring sea.

From the surface I was rising
in sun, before ship comes
with cargo of grief,
and sorrow and pain.

You know, I don’t think, I think.
Death is taking lease on my name.
in other world,
where my counterpart is fighting for virtue.