Dust Hound

Look at him, my dog, chase dust.
After all, dust defines us;

has moulded us into
monuments of wonder;

into beings who wander,

seeking taller high-rises,

looking down at the

smallest wonders of the world.

Ashes scatter... Our souls stay, 

fine, earthly, err... dusty!

Look at him, my dog, chase...

In awe, in joy, in angst even!

Masala Baby and I at Lodi Gardens, Delhi (Pic: Sreetama Bagchi)

Ode to Jackie!

He turned to me,

and I saw eternity

sparkle from the 

jaded eyes.

My dog, 

he is old now...

He looks up with fear,

his twilight n my shadow 

he loved to growl at,

occasionally smile at, too.

My dog,

he limps now...

The longing remains,

in his eyes,

he wags nervously,

lest I bring love.

My dog,

he loves to be patted, still...

But, I crave his anger,

his young arrogant growl;

he has never bitten my bait,

can never ever, now.

For he is old now,

my dog, Oh god!