Sometimes I want to ask
if we'll ever get back
to normal. If the hospital bed
will disappear from the main
level, if the endless stream of
doctors and nurses and physical therapists and reflexologists and acupuncturists
will ever pass us by, if maybe
a night without the squeaking
of bedsprings and the helpless shaking
and gasping of another seizure being
broadcast throughout the house
will finally come, if just maybe
when I say goodnight, you
will have time to look up
and see me standing there.
But then I remember that
the word "normal"
has never been heard in our house
without the harsh sting of comparison, and
this is our life, now, as
we have changed so many
other times. Who knows
what "normal" is, anyways.
If I ever did, I have forgotten.

everywhere is white.
white is all i see.
it is beautiful.

as i look out my window
these tiny orbs of white
float towards the ground

these little circles
magnetize towards the ground
like they were meant to be one

i look at these white drops
and think about how this could be
our destiny

this could be us
we can form from little round circles
and turn out to be

a great big snowball.

(b.d.s.)

today eyes found white clouds reading a little hard
monitor screen slightly remote prints a little blurred
gathered a few teardrops vision felt the pang of strain
it was then the mind drifted white clouds brought a rain!

from now on sunshine would not all be that bright
patch of crooked darkness would cry out for light
a curtain would come on way block the color's shade
things would no more look the way they are made!

the lens would not capture what's finer for eyes
beauties in smallness textures in disguise
blueness of sky the raw greenness of grass
would stale when looked through a pair of glass!

today white clouds brought the first layer of film
turned the nooks darker made daylight look dim
gathered a few teardrops vision felt the pang of strain
mind knew from now on life would not be same again!

The murmuring grove all of a sudden
falls mute, as they enter
listens to their words, love prompted
in the distinct love dialect.
A red beaked parakeet watches her
without batting an eyelid,
the  ruddy cheeks and ruby lips of the girl,
all aglow as the golden rays of evening sun caresses;
feeling jealous, the parakeet makes a loud racket.

I know better. How much do I know better; a little or a lot?

Enough to know I don't know enough. Enough to know that the more I know the more difficult my path becomes.

My knowledge becomes a burden. It is the burden of enlightenment. It is the burden of the blessed.

"To he whom much has been asked, much will be required. To he whom much more has been asked, much more will be required."

Drawing behind, her gathered black cloak ,
the night reluctantly withdraws
behind the numerous skyscrapers in the making
springing up, impatiently at various stages of scramble,
going one step above each passing day
as if there is no intention to stop,
till the day a fortress is built up around Bangalore.

Not the garden city of yore, any more
an  unfamiliar painted doll, robbed of innocence,
full of malls, glass, chrome and marble pomp.

The fluorescent eyes of the city, bids
farewell to the retreating night
with which it played varied games till morn,
and wearily view the approaching daylight.

The world is changing its color, now, so fast with vigor
yet, it is just the same as ever, in essence.

A blue train wearing a white turban,
measures the bottom length of the new skyline.
As I watch, an observer of a bubble, a phenomenon
I look through the eyes of one similar,
a few million years later and see light, only light dominate.

Then, like I do, two eyes would observe and
think of eternity, the imaginary construct called time
and the interplay of black and white and the time in which both dissolve

Behind me you stand quiet, taking in my scent, dense with pheromone,
a witness on the verge of arousal, you gently caress my neck
your sharp teeth bite at my earlobes, sowing goosebumps
all through my body's landscape
Your long fingers, love to travel all  my back and shoulders,
I dissolve within the present, travel down with your fingers,
your love transforms in to gentle all engulfing caresses,
that alone is real all through the ages.

I view through the eyes of the stranger,
who would see what I see in another time, in a form different
then we would have to accept, we are one and the same!