Works of RK

That time in life When in the heat of smoldering summer Wild blush of spring roses Bloom on your dimple cheeks, When dead daisies from last season Flower fragrant in your breeze. It is that time in life When life  itself Swings to fluttering rhythms Of a beautiful butterfly wing. When wild flowers burst forth A parched desert dune And hope that lay dormant From long years of arid ennui Springs and bursts forth Shoots of living green. Live on, I say For these are not moments that you lose To thoughts of yesterday Or hopes of a tomorrow That may never come.

How I hate the silly perfumed wind As it rushes to breeze you in. That stupid oyster grain As it delicately dangles Between those secret place I believe Are oh so mine! That hint of a bindi blazing fire consuming All my worlds all the time.

The setting sun down west Put up such a splendid show in red I had to hurry down to you my love In case You had for a change Given away too much of your blush!

Cobblestone pavements Naughty Kites that once flew into the horizons The faint aroma of a robusta, rightly brewed The smell of Jasmines buds, recently sprinkled The big temple bells' chime An old Morris minor, polished chrome gleaming My English teacher's lipstick Grandma reciting grand tales from the Mahabharata A long competing hooting bout with a Cuckoo A short rare one with a crow pheasant. Thoma on his ancient cycle, selling fish Eliamma's six felines courting Thoma all the time. Green from the paddy fields of yore Red from the fiery musandas Yellow from the April showers White from my grandmas starched mundu   Love from your letters Reached out and colored All of my remembered universe Until I safely stored them For another lifetime. Come away The cities have invaded our kind countrysides Grandma is no more And the kids of today Don't bother with real kites. We will meet again And rebuild our little lives One cobblestone at

The silences that fall over oceans Once the Ships that set sail Reach their shores. The darkness that fall over walls And curtains of a theatre Once the play is done. The feeling of that full stop Which placed right at the end foretells The End.

Who is your best friend? I What do you mean I? Indu? No. Just I . Don't be crazy. Everyone has a best friend. Someone with whom you can share all your secrets, all your pains. Someone with whom you would love to walk into the sunset. Someone with whom you can share a giggle, be yourself. I do all that with myself. I have no secrets, I write.

I love to get lost And then be found again In places that I never knew existed Until I was lost And I thought I will never be discovered. I love your secret places You don't look for me there And I love it Just that way.