Sighs in a march afternoon is 
An equatorial spring where carnations walk slowly.
It drapes saree over bougainvillea with the 
divine hands we believed to be stored in our little wooden churches.
The fingerprint of a honeybee resides under a leather chappal, dreaming of all gluttonous apples it can feed in heaven.
The pitiful roll of a dice when the bangle seller wondering about the puzzle of kneeling before god talking about pain in knees.
Silence spreads as if in an ouja board in the verandah,
listening to oranges arguing about lemons being their half sisters.
This is when poetry decides for a walk with amputated metaphors in place of legs.
The snake who was making a bed for her lover looked at with sympathy and offered it a cup of pineapple juice.
The morning paracetamol someone forgot to take danced in circles around it asking for a throat to sleep.
It walked through the staircase of the shop where the songs of owls are auctioned like it is an emergency exit.
The shoes begged poetry for a lace so that it can commit suicide without jumping under the wheels.
Poetry oscillated between two heat waves, maintaining awkward eye contact with someone's childhood sitting alone in road.
It watched a dream drowning in a bathtub while her parents tied birthday banners in chimneys.
Broken like a grandfather clock,
poetry hurled into the eyes of  a cloud, like a burn mark on the skin ofa photograph .
Like a child who ran away from his home,it asks for the sympathy of remberance.
Remember it just the way a hand remembers a wound.
Like a fish remembers the net.
Like a gun remembers a fence line.
Just like a knot that could be untied, remembers a scissor's teeth.

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