I know you don’t like jewelry,
But will you take a string of beads
Of little moments, full of Life,
Like fruity Life’s leftover seeds?
…
The fogging mask of eyeglasses,
Uppended glass of ice on face,
The twinkling stars on roasted corn,
The lemon gulped without a trace,
The poking of the mayonnaise,
The red-sauce mehndi on the palm,
The shall-we-take-that-city-bus,
The railway bench of waiting calm,
The twiddling thumbs in chilling breeze,
The fattened kittens on the fence,
The optical illusion pond,
The books with signs in brushing pens
…
The string will only grow with time,
And on the days we rage as storms,
We’ll thumb these beads like rosary,
Until our hugs again are warm.
Minakhi Misra 