To the call of a humid breeze
One pore opened and slowly
One drop of sweat formed,
Like some bitter dew
On the still paleness of your skin
Then another and another
And by some force, coalesced
Into a tiny rivulet
That flowed downhill
From the delectable valley
Towards your navel,
Moonbeams chased the drops on
Even as each follicle held it back
and I watched the night
suffer and age
In the heat
MAKE-UP
Darkness descends
by soft, deft brush strokes.
Night touches the sky
like the gentle lines of kohl;
night is make-up time
for cities too.
A glittering tiara of street lamps
light up the wide avenues
and tuck away the dingy by-lanes.
Emerald, ruby and sapphire
the neons shimmer,
hiding the blotches
that mar the facade.
Feminine as they are -
to hide the acne of slums,
cities need a few layers
of judiciously applied
darkness.Last Night
Last night
When clouds grey, bowed
And silent I mourning
Had clustered around the widow moon
And the wind was tired sigh
A firefly had wandered in to my room
Tired yet restless
Straying, lonely and defiant.
Its eerie green light
was a silent scream
A call
Of defiance yearning for tenderness
To envelop it.
