I was thinking of letters,
We all have a lot in our life
A few good - a few sad
But mostly run of the mill-
I suppose that's my fault
For writing to run of the mill people.
I've never had a letter
I really wanted
It might come one day
But then, it will be just too late,
And that's when I don't want it.

back from work when he rings the bell
his face tells me not all is well.

there's a dog out there,
seriously wounded, can't even get up
saying this he picks up a plastic bowl
pours some water in it
and to show him he isn't alone
I follow him with a bowl of milk
with breads soaked in it,

must be some insolent car tyre
crushed his hind legs
a black emaciated one
with a patch of white

and upon that grass
beneath the sinking night
we two mourn.

Fluffy cute chicks
barely two weeks
huddled in one small space

for men's bowel bred
scared and afraid
their minds are a jumble of mess!

Readied for a ride
to the river's other side
ferried on a small wooden boat

where the market
will decide their fate
finding kind home is remote!

Those chicks that are dead
will sink to riverbed
the living will leave them behind

I can only mourn
pray they are never born
as victims of greed cruelly blind!

Even where there is no darkness
we will create one.

a million petals ago, in colored meadows  
stems, gathered in far off fields
windy, wild born

bright pods of summer
split in August suns
earth bound, await
September floods

cool, foggy rains
cycle of rebirth
wildflower seeds falling
back to earth