Author: nisheedhi

Crows are waking just now
For daily sun to rise swiftly.

Lights are now switched off
For sun to take their place.

Crows have stopped cawing
For crowds to start bustling.

We remember, every year,
This day, until years drop.

We will recall another day,
In snowy hills, on the river

When the words were ice
And a river flowed calmly.

You wake up, upbeat on cracker
That went off on sleeping mind.

Someone has decided to marry
Over a loud splutter of a cracker.

You stay alive , slightly upbeat,
Another day , another marriage.

We make do with a night
When we take light sleep
And enact small dreams.

We make do with the day
And night when it closes
And there is another day.

A comedy misses tooth,
In a gap for trade winds

History’s mountain pass
Letting in Hun invaders.

And the sounds emerge
From ageing flatulence,

The lift gives dirty looks.
No need to trace origin.

Absurd thinking could save head
That seeks no answer to existence

And not seeking to preserve mom
Under mom’s absurd empty skull.

And if only a knife did not gleam.
Electric words crawl like tiny ants

With absurd food specs of weight,
On their backs several times over.

(Reading Albert Camus’s novel “The Stranger” in an e-book)

A mother board has conked out,
Like all mothers will some time.

That television will conk out too,
To its pageantry of dancing lines.

A whole racket of moving lines
Goes on in pageant all the time.

We thank a poet in ripped Levi’s
Who has put all of us on notice.

(After the poem “Notice” by Steve Kowitt)

It was night and flashlight,
The dream beside lagoon

With cormorants in a chat
And lovers in green bench.

We had left persona down,
One of two faces in dance,

Brows moving in a tandem
Enacting the Mahabharata.

A yellow cake will cut a
birthday.
Child’s laughter spreads
cream,
On a face funny over a
a fully grown

The big ones look down
on feet,
When cream is on their
faces
As balloons sputter on
empty air.

We keep the big world
from kids.
The face froze in phone
wastes
Feels Less lonely to read
for the night.

While thinking of the plank
I now have a river,
Men in straw hats crossing ,
on ghost feet

Brought together in careful
negotiation
Of river gushing under ,their
arms akimbo

A soft rain is pouring down
faces like tears.
Walking the plank is such a
poetry to mind.