In the margin of

In the margin of ---

In the margin of a foolscap white paper,
my pen sketches on a figure,
A marginalised woman , with larger
ambitions, misapplied ambience,
her struggle is her only reward,
a blossoming flower, now exposed
to Wuthering sounds, a mute victim,
the sketch goes beyond the boundaries,
where and why nobody knows;

In the wilderness

In the heart of wilderness-----

In the heart of wilderness,
there is a feeble voice,
Voice of thimbles and thistles
by the scented jasmine
and rose buds sprouting
here and there, sprawling
dandelions, gauzy covers
protecting them until blown
by the mighty winds ,
when they sweep, when they
subside they themselves know not,
memory grappling the fresh pages
in my mind’s eye,
fresh pages of what?
Pages of anything that is good,
the bouquet in plastic cover
slowly loosing its fresh charm,
yet the giver and the occasion
live and relive in memory
adding verdure to wilderness,
my search goes on.

Existence

Existence

At times we are like wild flowers
Craving for existence and sustenance
In the midst of aridity,
Smiling at gravel for be friending,
We walk on a threadbare rope walking,
Our existence precarious ,yet growing for
Stability, wild flowers are essential
to imbibe the aroma of lavender and jasmine,
this filmy existence craves an exist
into a gargantuan powerhouse .
wild flowers need be seen every
now and then,
in the bunch of rose and jasmine.

Post man for them---
It is in the post man’s brown
Shoulder bag , their destiny lies,
their life , the innocent children’s
hard lives, amidst canning , sparse
caring, rigorous training at times,
partial and cruel,
the school children’s lives,
their ambition, their results in
post card, one full year’s dictum
in single word-promoted or
detained, their tears and jubilation
all in the post man’s brown bag.