Waiting For Winters

I drew a Gulmuhar petal
It set my scrapbook on fire...

I was just waiting for a winter
That lost its way
In the knotted bylanes
Of a twisted city
Trapped in air conditioning vents.

The sun is a harsh barbarian
And the North wind,
Now a gentleman!

Both Gulmuhar and Amaltas tried hard
But could not burn down the summer.
The zephyr needs some air conditioning as well...
My winter withered
Like the summer flowers.

The city

A poet's confession

A thousand voices shout
Inside my head
Like a Scrabble board
All words jumbled.

I live many lives
And watch my own
As a nonchalant bystander.

I'm a parasite
That feeds on the joys and pains
Of others.
I call myself a poet...
But all I do is steal
And fiddle.

From morning, I stole dew
And spinned the earth
A full circle
To steal a night.

I borrowed dreams
Created nightmares
But never slept.

Sometimes, I flow with the breeze
But mostly, I'm that stagnant stale city
That recycles itself
Through cheap marketing gimmicks.

Set the parchments on fire.

Saba