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.

The Yellow Flowers

From afar I see the yellow beds

over the road that goes deep.

But not before I scent their freshness.

Scattered they lie, and smile at each passer-by.

I wonder where would they look sweeter-

in a vase or on a street?

Then a girl braids her hair with a flower.

Heat (Haiku)

The leaves agonize
Sun spreads like a hot towel

Hope for a trickle

Chaas

The fired-up sun spread like a hot towel,

eclipsed the glories of a long winter.

When intense heat poured forth from the bowels,

a jar of iced-chaas shall whip the swelter.

Cry

Every morning I ask the mirror,

“friend, please reflect and tell me,

am I what I seem to appear?”

Too proud to express, too blur in else’s dress

is the lame image in which I hide.

Glass looks for I cannot see.

But the truth is truer in a cry.

Talacauvery

Amidst the mist dwells an old temple

on the hill echoed with green,

where the wind drones like a disciple.

Cauvery river starts its journey here.

The bells hum their presence in the haze.

Priest chants. I feel the unseen-

take a dip in the holy amaze.

Rainbow

Heart swelled as passion rushed thru the veins.

Inflamed each fiber along,

and a flower bloomed of a fine grain.

Over an ivy, and its freshness heady

Vast, deep and beyond the illusion-

in the dark ocean it dawned,

on wings of spiritual wisdom.