Four by four
There must be something in crawling on the space,
gripping the earth
by forelegs
and then moving the hind legs forward
finding newer grounds to embrace
moving slowly but surely
knowing the beast within fully,
no pretense of being human.
My Father’s Last Photograph
There stood he,
my progenitor,
smiling,
a muffler on his neck,
a Nehruvian jacket,
behind him waves of ocean blue and white.
He was looking at the camera,
at me perhaps,
before he took the plunge into the infinite.
Writer
A strange creature
Who finds dreams on his writing desk
moving like red ants
in a definite queue,
one following another,
each carrying bits of alphabets in his mouth
like fragments of food
for the fellow’s thoughts.
