From my balcony

The sun climbs a neighbor’s coconut and it is time for a long dialogue of walk .Everything is so clear and so well cut. A neighbor ‘s tiny moonlight flowers had done a night’s duty of fragrance. They are withered smiles on a road.

The parijata tree had shed its flowers on the earth , their feet up in the air. The feet are red , so fallen to the sky.

Sister cuckoo is shrieking for her rain in Ashoka tree, with no idea of a sky hosting no clouds from Arabian sea. Her shrieks are a despair of farmers who hang cotton dreams on trees.