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The Long Walk Home

The trail to my Home passes through a garden stretch. I see the Constant Gardener always at work. He would nip a bud here, there; allow a wild flower to bloom. He would plant a hedge here, drive a wedge there, water some beds here, and leave some beds in gloom.

In places, I see patches of dandelions in bloom and areas where the dead flowers have left behind their persistent thorns. There are miles and miles left fallow, for when the time is right, he will make new flowers grow. 

It has been years since I started, will be some more until I reach Home. And as the decade turns the corner, I look forward... for there is nothing I see when I look behind. And as I plod on amidst thorns and flowers, with me my world plods on.

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Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda,
You would have smelt of summer roses
And Autumn pine.
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Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache
And loneliness bordering the divine.
You would have had so many secrets
Welling up as in a girly giggle
And so few friends who would hear them all.I am no Neruda
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Amidst this long winter chill.

The Color That Blinds

Every time I close my eyes
I see the green of Kerala countryside
The dark greens of lumbering rubber trees
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And then I remember your dupatta
Deep red or possibly maroon
Standing out among the Kerala countrysides.

Hush

You don't have to tell me.
I just know.
Its that little sniffle that comes through
The unexplained pauses
The slow responsesI know when you call
Just because you needed to cry.