patches in snatches

patches of sunlight
I try to gather
in my palm locking all in my fingers

I also gather beads
thread them with wires of sunlight
enclosing the warmth

those snatches of wind
(fancy those!)
I collect in my hand towel

in the upcoming days of drought
I will take all of these out
and fill my emptiness

"can anyone hold transient nostalgia?

a legend

his stature carries through centuries
not a legacy of one country,
transcends boundary
yet I find
"Abraham Lincoln was a lot shorter than I thought he would be"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Abraham Lincoln was a lot shorter than I thought he would be..." is from Saturday Centus...

a postcard

in today's world of emailing
I send you a postcard
my e-words are tactile
but I send more concrete
as you are aware
words do get lost in the cyber world
but my postcard you can touch,
savour or even inhale

those crooked words speak
(if you read between the lines),
of my recondite emotions

tablet of time

a tablet of time 
broken-
no one can break the aeons
they move so fast
in a blink.
here the tablet lies in debris
the moments already passed
into eternity
I see the dates
(a day of masquerades?)

I bury myself under the tablet, 
into the debris, 
fall asleep, with time
I don't need any other lover

corners

corners I have covered
with statues which stand tall
a flower vase with a fragile flower
looks soulfully at me
I never had noticed its rampant growth
I touch it gently
feels its tremors
the photo frame from the shelf
falls on the floor

the wooden corners are chipped

I pick the pieces from the floor
set back the photo frame on the shelf
tremors are gone now
my gentleness soothes the flower
its rampant growth is stopped
it still touches my soul
the fragile vase will hold it  still
statues will watch indulgently
I will still have my corners covered

thoughts of that perching scarecrow

hanging from the poles
scarecrow wants the silver shoes
a random wish
to walk on the yellow bricks
holding hands with the giant head

not that he can do much
in his precarious state
tired he falls asleep 
chasing a kitten in his dreams
even though he is in love with that witch

when she melts away
he promises himself 
that he will take revenge
now the perching is of his own choice
it reminds him of his vow

biding his time, still biding his time

numbers go nutty while I watch

all those numbers run around
I catch them
put them in different slots
but they escape again
curious to know each other

I like the picture
logical numbers
going nuts over each other
squares and cubes
climb exponentially

trigonometry breaks
into geometry
they giggle like a kid
and suddenly embrace,
break away guiltily

precalculus is the silent one
it has too much in its pocket
number system spouts euclid's lemma
roots of quadratic are always paired
but you know, it is all statistics

each portion of math says this
If I should die, think only this of me-
how to resurrect those numbers again