My coffee sings a morning lie
I greet the room and get no reply
Still, I talk to myself—at least I try
The walls never say hello or goodbye
Maybe the silence is just being shy...
but we usually see eye to eye
Now it’s time for ham and egg pie

The bookshelf waits. Dust comes to stay.
Unread for weeks. This is the way.
My pile of clothes begins to sway—
A soft rebellion, mild decay.
Necklaces lounge in proud display,
Bright lollipop earrings steal the day,
I dress like I’ve outrun dismay.

Otonoke in my ears, pocketed hands
I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a plan
The clouds clap with a flash and a BANG
I walk like I'm lit by streetlamp spite—
just me and the echo of maybe-I-might

One step, two step, three step, four
I giggle in the face of thunderstorms
Rain, rain, please don't abate
Let me linger in this state
Wet socks squish, but they carry their weight
Wish I had nowhere to be, that'd be great
The clouds and I are late for our date
My umbrella dozes – dry, ignored
Drip-dry dreams on the hallway floor
I hang up my coat and set my plea:
Oh woe is not me

I refuse to droop, to wither, to mope
Not all the time, at least, I hope
Let joy arrive on tiptoe
A spark that only I bestow
A tiny smile for what I miss the most

Because what is the opposite of woe?
If not a blink that dares to glow

Wrapped in fleece, the evening mine
Slow sips of golden honey wine
Just me, and this quiet offering
Where everything small becomes everything

Rain patters on the skin,
Saint of many good deeds

Wind makes it soft,
So it fly
Leaving its shell of emotions on the petrichor

Oh my my,
It's love at first sight
The rain is just an excuse,
likewise

The huzzling sound of rain,
reminded me of your promises.
The roaring of the clouds,
echoed your passionate love.
The splash of water at my feet,
carried the memory of your presence.


But then the rain stopped!!

How many shades of gray can you count
Staring up at the rain clouds?
Would you be able to name them,
Give them a purposeful pallet in which to contrast against
Would they go well with marble or subway tile?
Could you see it defaulting a room to a “create-a-character” meh?

Could you assign them to moods?
Let each shade or shape of the clouds tell a story
Each one or color depicts a mental illness and how it cascades in the mind.
What depicts depression, is it the darkest gray or the lightest?
How would you label the spectrum?

What of the rain?
Could we categorize how it pours down?
If it’s by its sides is it sliding into indifference?
What about the dull droll of straight down,
Is that just melancholic, or simply a chance to shower outside?
Let the natural spritz renew with vigorous remiss
And chase away sorrow in cool or warm damp praise.

Whatever the case,
However, the time is spent in malaise
Remember the sun will return,
And so too will color.

Pitter patter raindrops gently sprinkle my windows,
Thunder rumbles again.

Sky’s are dark, darker, glooming happily,
The day meanders, hiding and seeking,
and the sky  starts  pouring its heart out .

Pale silver threads, navigating  their way down  against a backdrop of green-black trees.

It is June.
And my day of revival, birth and reckoning.
Only a day away from the solstice.

Here in leafy, caressing, sleepy Goa,
the dusk will soon begin its  slow, steady, inevitable drawing in.

In my secluded, fragrant, verdant labyrinth,
I sip coffee,
I notice the lone squirrel scurrying away to find shelter,
and listen to birds chirping, bees buzzing, the gurgle of water,
and to an insistent song in my head that just doesn’t stop playing but too spellbound  to put pen to  paper right now.

And now, as I go for a drive on this quiet, directionless, mellow afternoon,
I cannot remember the word I want to write,
I think I have no words.

The thunder is closer now.

It sounds like drumbeats , the rearranging  of celestial furniture, like our transit to this beautiful abode we call home now.
Unexpectedly a bird is singing in the midst of it all unabashedly.

I think about the past.
Not in any structured way. Just people who have come and gone, who linger, who stay and who have left their indelible fragrance around me.

For a few moments, my mind wanders down the past and I sigh at my own predictability.

The thunder is passing. Grumbling and groaning in the distant now.
Each leaf looks freshly washed, scrubbed sparkling clean and shades of green hold my gaze.
The paddy fields look abundant  and satiated.
The single bird has become a small chorus, a full roaring celebration on.

I stare at my page. I have still written nothing.

But, sweetness,
I just experienced divinity,
I feel blessed and just absorb the present.

I am the road and the paddy field,
I am the bird, the squirrel and the bee,
I am the thunder, and the rain,
I am the song and  the quiet,
In the abundance ,
I am me, what I want to be❤️