The Pairs
The first Goan beach i set foot on - Arambol. No sun over sand and sea but Monsoon waters mating with those below. Who comes from who, who would know?
the Shawl
Time has been seeping
on the tiles now
She strings together the beads;
each one a vow.
The raindrops dribble down
racing to the clammy bottom,
the glass is glazed
from the marks of the phantom.
She crinkles her nose,
but fooled she is
So she dives back
to feel again the fizz.
The air wakes up to a new sound,
bouncing off the walls
The smell of a start
she’s thrown off the shawl.
Sunday Sexiness.
Sip the warmth from your mug, grab a cushion, and turn down the music - there is much to be said.
