When they come knocking at my threshold
I gather them in my lap
Handfuls
And put myself on the backburner
To simmer
Till they turn into long meaningful sentences
Till they extract design from the air they transcend through
I gather them in my lap
Handfuls
And put myself on the backburner
To simmer
Till they turn into long meaningful sentences
Till they extract design from the air they transcend through
They turn into lores
That my fingers sing
And fly away from my gripping thoughts
To claim skies free of blue
And then
With a bang
They arrive at my window
Falling with the raindrops
Flapping against opaque glass
And i miss them
Standing at my door
Where rain conveniently
forgets to drizzle…
A television journalist turned writer I have been writing short stories and poetry for almost twenty five years. Masters in Physics and Education, turned to Television journalism and gradually shifted to full time writing. Taught physics for a year at University of agriculture. Meanwhile worked for All India Radio as announcer. Reported for “Parakh” and later worked with NDTV. Got into professional writing somewhere along the line. Have also produced documentaries for television and radio.
