Do you wonder, find it strange
How this world loathes
When we could love more
As hatred spills everywhere
We stand still, stare in despair
None intervene, all stay aloof
“It’s not my battle, not my war”
Until it is knocking at our door!
For the thing with hatred is this
When ignored, it only spreads
Its claws are sharp, hunger wild
We may be silent but can’t hide.
What had happened was
Giggles over a picnic spread
Thick layers of marmalade
Stacks of thin crepes
Trickles of blueberry
Glasses of lemonade
Under the mulberry tree
Just dreams of summer
Stained with myriad colors
As in the winter sun I lay
Thinking of you and all
That you just left behind!
On a Sunday morning
A summer-perfumed breeze
Rocks the hammock
A book cover gazes
Vacantly at azure skies
A fly lazily sits on the rim
Of an empty flute of nectar
Thoughts doze off embracing
An idyllic disregard
For chores and such
Until a mundane morrow
In the fleeting darkness
Only dreams survive
On the chariot of dawn
That rises from the ashes
Of a horizon in cinders
Lost to the dying lights
Of lonely burning skies!
The dark broom of night
Sweeps away stardust
From under the canopy
Of a dazzling firmament
Slowly lost in the distance
I thought I’d survive without you
But I couldn’t say goodbye
For the words lay tangled
At your doorstep
Afraid to cross the threshold
Into a life where you
Would not be waiting
At sundown, by the yellow lamp
A book in hand, the kettle whistling
Eager to tell and know
Of just another mundane day
Blue Pen Strokes 