love
                                                               is an oasis
                                                               you say...
                                                               or does our thirst
                                                               play tricks on us?

 

                                                               surfing through
                                                               channels of thought
                                                               I tune into
                                                               the lingering memory
                                                               of mother's favourite saris

 

                                                               she lights
                                                               the bronze lamp
                                                               each morning
                                                               a new day for mother to love
                                                               her Goddess, all over again

 

                                                               a hundred lies
                                                               just to cover
                                                               the first
                                                               his conscience
                                                               allowed him to say

 

                                                               my family wept
                                                               over our dog's death
                                                               I weep
                                                               for those days I grudged him
                                                               his early morning walk

 

                                                               draped in fragrance
                                                               the jasmine withers . . .
                                                               my breath
                                                               through the flute, cherishes
                                                               each note as it fades

 

                                                               autumn fields
                                                               a fork in the road
                                                               widening
                                                               our shadows   
                                                               even farther

 

                                                               worn out sandals
                                                               the cobbler finds them
                                                               difficult to mend
                                                               and I find them hard
                                                               to discard

 

                                                               rain in the city
                                                               unrelenting
                                                               through the long night
                                                               my life hangs
                                                               on your laboured breath

 

                                                               laughing
                                                               over old stories...
                                                               suddenly
                                                               I feel that mother
                                                               is young again

 

                                                               for eons, waves
                                                               have danced the pebbles
                                                               to perfection . . . still
                                                               it’s the sand between my fingers
                                                               that leaves me spellbound

 

                                                               it is possible
                                                               I tell myself
                                                               to feel
                                                               the depth of the sky
                                                               from within me...

 

    CREDITS:

    love (Nov 2009 Simply Haiku)
    surfing through(Nov 2009 Simply Haiku)
    she lights (Nov 2009 Simply Haiku)
    a hundred lies (Fall issue of Ribbons, 2009)
    my family wept (Nov 2009 Simply Haiku)
    draped in fragrance (Eucalypt  May 07)
    autumn fields  (Magnapoets July 09)
    worn out sandals (Loch Raven Review Fall 05)
    rain in the city (Streetlights: Poetry of Urban Life in MET. summer 09)
    laughing (Notes From the Gean - Sep 09)
    for eons, waves(Simply Haiku - Spring 07)