Colourful flowers graced her bright white nightie and she glided with an angelic aura, as she made way through the light, the brilliance of it keeping me from opening my eyes, carrying her daughter in her arms, smiling, playing, laughing, smiling again with eyes full of gratitude. “What were you like?” Like the morning star.…
She was there, Where it all began and all ended Neither the bright afternoon knew Nor the sad evening For they were mere visitors The tree, though, seemed to know it all
People say times have changed. I still see toads lying flat on the roads in the monsoons. Their joyous leaps put to an end maybe by some breakneck conveyance, before they could reach their sanctuaries safely. Rains still come down to these sanctuaries like ever: demented! Thousands of invisible light-footed spiders gambol on the buoyant…
Casually Classical 