Five Bags Full

The two bags of namkeens
Were eked out over weeks.
My sister felt bad when I told
Her how treasured they were. I
Thought your suitcase wouldn’t hold
So much, she said, and to buy
More would’ve been a waste!
She speaks, I thought, as if taste
Lies only on the tongue, a matter
Of spices and dough. As though
The heart were not suffused
With the sweetness and salt
Of home. So this time, she bought
Five bags. All that they had
At the store. This time I told her not
To feel bad. How could a heart ask
For more.

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“Life Continues”: A Truth

Universally acknowledged. Plants
Can be transplanted to other
Courtyards, other keepers,
Creepers are harder, but arches
Have been known to tether
Pillars of entrances together.
And the earth itself, in sooth,
Defies being cornered, demands
That we arch its latitudes,
North to South, altitudes flying
Across separation. No imaginary
Line is a bar. In consolation,  Life
Continuously cries – Here we are.
A place to be stable. Here,
Where the round flatness prevents
A slipping off, where
The edge is no bar, no table
No morning mug of tea too far.

 

Winging It

We’re just two birds flying home
Now that the day is done. Not
Those people in the car, worried
About groceries and dinner; none
Of those at the traffic light, hurried
Across streets by horns and shouts;
Even those young ones, open-haired
In flashy shoes, happy to be out
Of classes, are not us. We don’t gaze
Out of train windows, stiff on shared
Seats; we’re not among the excited
Faces on various selfies and tweets.
No trophies await us for battles lost
And won. We’re just two birds
flying home, now that the day
Is done.