Swing

Feet dangled, long hair brushed the tiled floor.

When winds whooshed through the windows,

back and forth I swung with outstretched toes.

A purple dawn reigned as the sunlight streamed in.

Nature donned a colourful art piece.

A quiet lake, the hills rolled.

Swing - a pendulum of memories.

The Violnist

On the bridge of a railway station,

head bowed immersed in music-

violinist in meditation.

Notes hushed in this place awash with human rush.

Most seem unaware of his presence.

Some drop a coin once a week,

and those who pause are his audience.