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)

Eliot and I

He was ambushed,
questioned, in a dark room,
where is your Waste Land?
Around you, he sighed.

... Near me, I discover,
while I try to gauge
the length of a long shadow
cast by my office desk lamp --
dark, hiding my Waste Land,
lighting up theirs! 

Ode to Lutyens' Dew

The morning dew

lounges in her hammock

at Connaught Place,

it's still winter, a Sunday!

I search for coffee,
but skip breakfast, or did I?

Wow, I did jump a few signals,

to enjoy the smiling traffic

-- a few vintage cars

and dogs of Lutyens' Delhi.

Homemade Heaven!

Winter, her morning songs, calls for a dance; but the heart wraps itself in summer, his lullaby... A good layer of fleece, thick skin of cotton, and a fine lining of love. It's complete -- my homemade heaven!

Pic by Sreetama Bagchi (Instagram: @sreetamabagchi)