Evening musings 2

 It happens to be one of those slow days. Yet here I am sticking to one of my simpler commitments. To write. Allow my fingers to dance across the keyboard and type what all my brain is capable of cooking. It has been running like madmen, in endless circles for a long while. How often have I wanted someone else to come and tell it to just stop mumbling under its breath. Just stop and take note of the surroundings perhaps. Most of the days, it will just do its own bidding. Jump hoops, summersaults over topics, I could bearing keep my mind act. At this juncture of life, how does starting to think a fresh look like? You are looking at me. 

If you ever start
This journey,
It might become 
My turn
To finish it.
In the streets
freshly washed by rain
I point out to you
How things small 
Smell after a shower.
Nothing I imagine
Could ever be real,
Even your planting
Calm love
In my Garden of Chaos.
Do you know
How my voice
Falters thick with emotion
When such days
Come and block our way?
Then again, I fondly remember
The colour of your eyes
The crow's feet at its edges
Whenever you smile.

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