There are a thousand tiny windows in the heart;
Even when slammed there are too many
Sparrows of memory chirping inside
Always tainting the senses, reprehensibly.
Like capering and shuddering water drops inside
The bowl of a ‘colocasia’ leaf, after the rain.
What kind of a fish is dancing inside the
Millpond on the palm of a caressing hand ?
The butterfly in the heart is oscillating,
Among the rubicund blossoms of the Forest flame.
Who is sitting together in the small dinghy,
In the lap of the ripples in the river?
Is the heart an ocean of pernicious tears?
Is love a burning ember hiding in the ashes of the mind?
Is loneliness and separation a shadow of
A candle melting, in sharing its love with flames?
My refuge is only in the obscurity of despondency…
