We visited Kolkata
I thirst… Not for love, money or Even happiness. I thirst for water To quench the parched earth To bring green to the brown To bring fresh hope to those Who raise crops and food for us. I need water To fill the pots Of each slum-dweller Who puts her (it’s never a he) Vessel in a long line of colours, Waiting to drink, wash and live. I have had enough of grishma ritu. I want varsha…not just the odd shower Or thunderstorm, but a steady, Cloudy, drumming season That will replenish the depleted Plateau,that we live on And call home.
Yellow small flowers
Rush,rush, rush… Around me, the seconds flow past The minutes fly The hours march, The months creep slowly. I hardly feel the year’s progress Into the lap of what-has-been. I live in the present… That’s a conondrum As with every ticking second My present becomes the past. As I sit here, writing, My heart starts the next beat. I take my next breath. I am not what I was When I first thought of writing this. What a relentless river Time is.