Sunday morning in Green Park

Daffodils
are shooting up among
the pigeons in Green Park;
it is a cold Sunday morning.

I have for company
Tom Peters,
the bells of a church somewhere,
and a few thousand
tourists
eerily silent
while we wait for Oxford Street to open
its doors for us.

Sounds

Bart and Lisa plot
Traffic moves in regular
whooshes,
trees sway, agreeing to predictions
heavy rain tonight.
Piano keys tinkle as Lisa speaks.
The clock here goes tick tock
tick tock
No matter how hard I try
There are only three sounds I hear
Bart
Steady traffic
the clock.

The rest is silence.

28/6/07
8:30pm

Wishlist

What I have -
A rainforest of books on
writing
secret pages in my journals
hidden words, restrained.
A hundred ballpoint pens
all working
warm cashmere
Chanel,
a robin splashing in the
bird bath.

I'd like
a garden of my own
tall trees sheltering
my words, rationing
sunlight and rain.
Shoes and handbags are
good, too. Unusual
designs,silks, lavish.
More words, elegant, profuse,
uncensored
a glint of effortless prose
in an otherwise crowded
page.
silks

December 6, 1992

Once upon a time
Not so long ago
They existed in peace
Separate, yet one
Sharing tears and laughter
Dreams of a better future
Separate, yet One

Then came the Holocaust
And brought with it
seeds of distrust, sowing
them in the minds of the unsuspecting.
Walls of fire broke down
walls of stone and there
grew in place of it
The Great Divide.

They were now no longer One
What had come between them
could not be broken down.
The tears in their eyes mingled
with their sweat
as they ran away into the night
leaving behind years
of pain and toil.
They were butchered, molested,
torn apart

And the red drops on the floor
were blood
Not rose petals.

--------------------------------------
A long-ago poem (1993).
Published in the St.Xavier's college magazine (1993), online poetry websites and several newsletters in India.

Peach

The best way to eat
a peach, I have found
is lean out of a window
and let the ground

reach out and soak
the juice that drips
delicious, sweet, from
the corner of your lips.


------------------------
Very corny. I know. And terrible rhyming!
30 July 2006

Battle

Monday night
strings sway, Vikings protest
a princess shrieks
"he is your brother!"

My eyes begin to close
it's almost like someone's
forcing my lashes down
a palm flat on my eyelids.

I protest too.
my eyelids droop; it's a losing battle

swords clink ten metres away.

------------------------------------------
Written 4 June 2007. Not sure what this refers to, but I think Mr.R was watching something on telly and I was too tired/bored to give him company.

Pomegranate

We have no furniture.
The landlord's sofa beckons,
a coffee table and
otherwise bare living room.
But we have red tulips
in a vase

The dining table's still
eight weeks away
We make do with TV
dinners on a tray
But we have red tulips
in a vase

Fresh red tulips
the colors of a pomegranates
insides
subtle hues and shades of pink
reflect the light

While we walk among the
boxes and wonder where
this all goes
We'll look at the red tulips
and know
It'll all be beautiful
in the end.


-------------------------------------
Written 17 January 2007. The day after we moved into our new apartment.