Standing on top of each morning briefly
stopping by each evening shortly
unmindful, my eyes are chasing,
my eyelids are sweeping with light the sky
splattered with colours pilled out
after hitting horizon's last shore.

I am thinking
what is this crimson,
colour of lovers' hearts
torn from each other and
taking on to opposite paths,
or the reddish glow of minds
come together after
dark moments of separation?

Half of my life is soaked in colour
watching these red glows
spilled over the side-door that admits the day
and the bamboo portals
that shut out the day,
but could not understand
whether this earth and sky
part in the evening
and meet in the morning
or part in the morning
and meet in the evening!

-०-

I. TARNISH
We procreate fate, from bones to belief,
Wearing faith like a second skin— daily
soiled, weather-worn by noise and news.

Socially religious; actions are mere talk
we preach in later posts, and not prayers.
We remember songs line for line, forgetting
words to the Word, that once shaped us.

II. INTERROGATION
Where is your faith? —asks the heart.
Where will you be in five years? —asks the mind.

And there—between tears and time— laziness
holds patience, procrastination becomes a religion.
As I wear the mask of a man knowing what he’s
doing, but the fit is too perfect –to ever feel like
Truth.

III. CONFESSION
O Lord, hear the slow-breaking cry of my soul,
lest I forget the sound of my own weeping.

My prayers, once daily bread, are now scattered
crumbs, too few, too faint to carry my mourning,
Into the morning. And you won't hear the dirge
in my less frequent prayers or their “Amen.”