Reader's Block

​If only​ ​I could read endlessly.

Then ponder those tales

and verses​​,

​doodle ​on my tired notebook,

​dragging my pen through

the narrow lanes of

a verbose existence​;​

following the rules of making love,

yet breaking all of them,

for writing is liberty.

But no one reads

what I ​sigh and scribble​,

nor ponder my state,

or my status quo.

Instead​,​ I lock my words

in a​n​ opaque bookshelf​...

​... Then I ​pick​ ​up my axe,

​chop ​it all up,

the wood and the paper,

for ​I need ​firewood​ ​​​

to rekindle the ​spark.

I wish I could read endlessly!

-- Leslie Xavier

Ode to the Lost Rain

​These scents don't tickle,

I miss my sense of smell​,​

​numb to petrichor​,​ 

​I miss its taunt, its poetry.

Spoilt ​by ​​a big city in a slum​,

I hardly hear the Purple Rain.​

I watch the ​shower, still,

gauge the drops,

feel the whiff,

let the mist ​kiss my soul,

and my memoirs remind me

what it meant to ​dance in the rain.

It is but life,

laced in moisture,

from tears, both...

of those who are parched,

and those who are drenched in love.

Behold the duality... 

... In the scent of the rain,

in its scant disregard

of propriety​:​

A lout for many,

west and east coast,

​while I hear a faint, lost song.

-- Leslie Xavier

​​The Immunity ​Lie

If it rains tomorrow,

will there be reopening 

of schools,

and paper boats

to sail across shallow puddles?

But​,​ it is too early​,​ 

the summer burns,

and we are left with mangoes

mangled priorities,

a wee bit of sanity, 

parched rivers brim with tears

and a strange virus.

Let it rain​ though​,

for it washes away the

salt on our wounded pride​.​

​W​e still seek vaccine,

solace, air to breathe,

and a new parliament,

​​​as immunity ​becomes a ​lie...

The school bell too is a myth,

it rings no more​

in this cacophony...​

​And we sway to 

shrill ringtones and eerie sirens.

-- Leslie Xavier