DAYSPRING
A big, black couch was gathering dust.
The poet rusting hazel, eyes bleached,
lamps hushed.
She went through her lines, checked the baritone,
hoping he’d call, “Can I come?”
She fried the samosas, stuffed the bookshelf,
hoping she’d yelp, “Can I come?”
Termites jet-sprayed, plastic gloves stowed away,
ready to coo strawberry letters
in the squall and the rain.
Green fingers, beaming Sunday
is basil, chilli, parsley.
Bubble red cherries on her mind,
Feta is most divine.
A wall awaits painted roofs,
The table, a potted lamp.
The gossamer blue of Colin spray,
a spatter of diamonds and grace.
Snip, snip hiss of the nozzle
The black beast is shining again—
toasting, screaming, make hay.
Also read
- India restarts random Covid tests for international passengers as 4 cases of Omicron BF.7 variant detected
- Why are we vilifying Gurnam Singh Chaduni, asks Anuja Chauhan
- The pandemic is rebirthing the world in ways we don’t fully understand yet
- Pandemic might give way to an era of deglobalisation, says Shashi Tharoor
- Overshadowed by pandemic, humanity’s greatest challenges remain: Ashwin Sanghi