The December morning
unfolds with a chill.
Opening the door
the breeze flows.
I pull around me
the pallu of my sari
walk down the path
pick the news papers.
The sun is on the horizon
I read the news
while a whiff of air
strikes my spine.
Wonder at the illusion,
the sun as radiant as ever
but the quiver I undergo
seems to deceive.
Gathering the dailies,
I get inside, rest myself
in the couch. Sense
a warmth.
Un relatable, yet I am inclined
an analogy with the men I know,
Possess many faces, one soft and gentle
while the masked is cruel and harsh,
the rest portend emotions optimal.
Meenas Poems 