Butterfly in Bombay — A True Story
A yellow butterfly —
A trembling dot of colour on a canvas black & white.
Flew through a half-opened window
Into my office bus zipping on a smoking highway
And settled snug on a bunch of flowers
printed on my dress.
Bougainvilleas
We need more bougainvilleas
Now that cemented cities are here to stay
We need more willing artists
To paint mirages on that stark grey
And more fragrant plants like the night queen
To quell the rot of the excesses of day.
We need more bougainvilleas
On the sideways
To fool us into believing
That we were meant to live this way.
The Peacock
A shimmering sculpted jewel flew lightly on my rooftop
And stood sweetly calling out the rain.
It opened a fan of over a hundred dazzling eyes;
Unblinking , they captivated the sky in their blue-green iridescence.
The peacock in its enchanting beauty
O’ glittering shades of life
Incarnates the zenith of nature’s artistry.
It appears in plain sight
Holding a mirror to how our world would be
If we’d let the grand artist paint at liberty.
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