Amidst evening and footpath stalls,
the toy-sellers have their wares out.
My mother will buy me a gift
for my birthday, any toy I want.
There are buildings and there
are lights and there are people.
The sky changes from blue to pink
all along the stretch of concrete.
God’s hand runs over it, I think.
God’s palm that is making the sky
and on my own palm
I have an aeroplane rolling,
sparks of gold fly in its red windows.
The above poem is from my first collection Reeling (2012).