[Originally, this was titled "A Cascading...
Never observed beforehand...

Its not that I have to show you my fondness,
yet I must script a poem...

Mehndi adorned her slim
fingers; chosen gems decked...

One homeless brown mongrel
scratching his mangy skin...

You will smile scornfully reading this
and surely will laugh at the rhythm, if any...

( In memory of my loving father.)
He hummed melancholy notes...

Yamuna flows by, quietly,
Seasons walk in silence...

I wish to leap over
the apparent horizon...

Wipers busily make semicircles
of clarity on the windscreen...

In his spare time, Future leafed through
photocopies of dead chapters...

Visions of your straightened hair
draping the shoulders...

Sleepy morning
cleans the ash heap...