Slowly I get up from my post
Leaving that threadbare
faded cloak lying on my bed
Flattened beyond recognition
Devoid of me, emptied of presence
As I wade through untamed grass
Knee deep, filled with weeds
I stumble upon leftover daisies
From an earlier open eyed dream
I cross my heart and fingers
As the red mail van passes by
Wishing for a night of blessed sleep
The midday strikes sharp
screeches it’s tail till wee hours
And the night
my very own night
Falls prey to it’s laments
Unsung, not spoken of, unheard
Forever unseen…
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.
