The Bridge

Everything is in free fall. There you are — standing on the bridge between life and death, between being something and becoming something else, between anticipation and foreboding, between then and thereafter, between what you were meant to be and what you will be when it is over.

And every word, every breath, every thought, leaves you to flutter downwards into the snaking continuum, not belonging to you before it was yours, not yours after it has belonged to you for that one moment — passing through your presence, changing you, changing itself, drifting rushing, reaching into the ever-moving. Still you wait with hopes and dreams in your sad eyes as if the tumult of the shuddering universe has taught you nothing.

sky or sea or wind –
who owns
this first monsoon cloud?

 

 

Water to Water, my first poetry collection, is now available on Amazon – US, UK and India

 

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All the things

part moon-part cloud
all the things
I should have forgotten

 

In the mood for micropoetry…

Haven't written a lot of micropoetry since November 2017, when I hosted 
Micropoetry Month (You can also find the link in the sidebar). 
Time to give it another shot, maybe?

(1)
nothing
black wing on tangerine sky
and…still…nothing

(2)
summer solstice
how short this night
how long her empty sigh

(3)
one moon stirred pond
one splash of insomniac frog
what are the odds

(4)
rain falls on glass
on tile
on leaves-
so many ways
the sky calls out your name

(5)
wordless question
slanting shadows
kneel on the bamboo mats

(6)
between her and the night
a paper lantern
with one eye

(7)
even the moth
that burns in the flame
first sees the light

(8)
in the distance
autumn
I tremble with the leaves

(9)
stirring the afternoon
lone crow
with a broken wing