Vinita

Ever walked into an old Roman Museum
A sextant and the Orion
And Antiques of Colosseum

English Orchids and John Lennon
On the 1960s gramophone
Teaching the modernised Indian English language
With the Pheromone of a rich Bengali past

She reigns comfortably on the cushioned chair
Right seated next to Barren sir
Brewing stories from her flavoured romantic past
And her adventures in Bangalore

Serves the red hot wine she doth pour
To quench my curiosity I devour
It tasted sour and a little sweet
To my expectation she does meet

Vinita likes to be called Vinny
Wishing every time she were skinny
Forgetting how exotic and delighting she is
Always so elegant and full of wise

Poem in a corner

If I could I would,
         Engrave myself in this corner of Bakul's children library hearing and writing poetry.
If I could I would,
         Be that spider with freaking eight legs to walk through all the books and settle down on the                  poet's shoulder ready always to devour.
If I could I would,
         Be the hard drive of the camera and record what wonderful poetic inventions we have made in            each moment.
If I could I would,
         Be the poem you write so that you could read me to others and I hear others read their poems              aloud.
If I could I would,
         Be that jet flying free in the white sky singing my poetry aloud leaving the world astound.
If I could I would,
         Be the wind that flows through every window and could hear you sing your poems to self
If I could I would,
         Be that little brother who always fought and yet listened and cared
If I could I would,
         Be that fluorescent lemon yellow and draw your imagination and poems below
If I could I would,
         Be that morning sun to wake you up to a new day for you will have more poems to create.
If I could I would,
         Be that page that is without a corner sitting in this corner writing my poems forever and more.

Growing poetry

History, Mystery
Poems, Flames!

Growing poetry
In my garden thought
With the flowers and the joy
That you brought

History I teach
Till ancient times we reach
On your broken bench you sit
Wrote few lines out of it

I write some
Then you wrote few
They decorated the front page
And we grew

Branching each day
Rooting to what we love and live
We discover you
Into a family we weave

two poems created by kids
One sailed the boat
And the other followed
served us all in minutes!