have seen life slipping away
like a sip
of the cup which was not going to stay
i took my tea and could hardly say
is this what we have learned
to be the middle way
Buddha is not my ideal nor sri rama
i am not worried
about what people will say
i want to be with my mother
and wish her a long life
even if it means
some more
moments, from my friends, will go away
after all, what is that which matters
when leaves are shed
and spring i sfar away
you just become quiet
and let memories hold
a queer sway
you write so well.you frighten me.
how can people be so perfect in this world.
It took me full ten days to respond back to your poems.
perfection is not what i seek
and fear is for those
who are meek
we are what we do,
see, reflect and try to be
why not then we accept,
imperfections as our argument
and assertion as a statement
bleek
and suspect
but having still a scope
for generating a hope
who will claim
what is the aim
of being so, as u suggest
without embelishments
of eroded vanity
and persuasive embankments