What?

Green grows the grass

All the way to its feathered end

It's humid out there isn't it?

A slight whistle as the reeds bend, then bend

I am from India.

Choosing as if its a choice, not nature's way

It's humid out there?

Even the soil seems to roll

It's not so bad.

Long Time Coming

Tea and toast
A breeze, creaky bed
Yellow flowers
Teardrop petals
Firelight, molten spectacle
Unexpected blackness
Shivers escape
A warmed sphere
Slate grey and fountain water
From a window
Mirth becomes myth
Bends the shapes
What happened to the flowers
They stand there still
What happened to the flowers
Still, they stand