THE DAYS OF CORONA

The lemon seeds

fell into the cup, 

with subdued protest

before I could intervene.

The mint leaves in their small pot

were blackening 

as I noticed.

They lacked sunlight,

I lacked sunlight too.

Unlike the leaves

that were dying indoors, 

I was blossoming 

with the blissful 

water-light moments of my own

granted impromptu.

The intermittent journeys

down the gullies

and the by-lanes of the mind

that I missed, 

the existence has gifted,

It had understood their need.

What the life's necessities

had stolen away

flinging me headlong

into the gruesome scuffle

of daily subsistence,

The creator had blessed with,

without depriving 

the visitations to the manifested world.

Transformation: In Waiting

Transformation: In Waiting

The pale pall of gloom descends upon the little sky

playing hide and seek among the wind-excited foliage.

A strange amalgamation

of light and darkness 

tugs at the strings of delicately hanging strains of an old tune, 

with which

one is  clueless, of

the exactness of music, 

which is neither pain

nor happiness.

It is nothing that leads you either down some old road 

of nostalgic pleasure 

or through the static, still 

afternoon monotony of 

repeated moments

that often passes through your somehow reverberating sojourn with time and timelessness,

randomly vacillating between thoughts and calm.

There is still a discovery

waiting somewhere,

An awakening that is beyond

the reach of your seemingly

self sufficient yet 

infant self 

which a cosmic turn of events

may change.