In The Morning

there is birdcall

in the sky

they are celebrating

with chirp and song

and whistle

the paradise of summer

in the mist

beautiful white buildings stand

like they were eternal

in the trees gulmohur bloom

bright red

and yellow laburnum flowers

adorn the streets

and now the sun

slowly rises through the blue

in swathes of gold

but only I know

how it feels

sitting here

at my window

only I know

my burning life

turning to ash

on my tongue.

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Searching

for a piece

of white sky

there are these dark clouds

to sort out

what do you do

when your mind gets stuck

what happens when

white sky steams

when the humid grey world

turns into water

where do you go dear?

 

The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).