Love, A Reflection

In a world without mirrors,

sans judgement,

and harsh glares,

I would spend

the vanity left in me

to cry, then reflect...

I become my mirror.

And, in the images

flashing by,

droplets of cold sweat

provide gloss

as well as the shivers.

Then, three hours past midnight

I touch her,

she kisses me,

and we see

our reflections merge,

within hand-held Amoled frames.

... In a world without mirrors,

three hours past midnight!

-- Leslie 

Home Free!

He measures it all in miles,

the commutes,

the revolts,

the rebukes;

the mad rush

for affinity,

for love,

for creating music

for his muse,

for her amused lips.

A pilgrim now,

he finds his home tiny,

miles become mere metres,

but their smiles are
beyond ’em metres,

or ’em rules, grammar;

for their joy n spree are free, 

like the waves
on a lake infinite,
a song in free verse!

Pic by Sreetama Bagchi