Little one~ I looked hard for you this morning but couldn’t find you; and it’s only sometimes that I spot you now, spinning crazy kathak chakkars in the morning light, or showing off a full velocity,dexterous taan in the afternoon quiet. Peace and hope you’re pampered and happy returns and all that, where ever you are, and where ever it is that we eventually go.

Y’day I grew a difficult notch in my own esteem, a pat on the back is in order, as is sitting up straighter.

A month ago, this very day.

Frostwriting features my essay, a tribute to the Practice group on IWW , (and to my friend Alice in particular)
www.frostwriting.com/issues/article/three-dots-and-a-full-stop

Strong? No, not me.
Pokey-holey; this façade.
Like cardboard. Edgy.
Do not touch.

From the formal quiet of the 34th floor meeting room, the sea stretches to a misty distance, an uneasy sheet shimmering with serene pools and rivers of quiet, past which are lands inhabitated by souls. And the foyer at the Gateway holds an invisible cloud, like a second skin, of all the chaos that once transpired. And Dilli‘s Terminal 3 is fine, only its in the wrong country. And so on.

Somewhere, amidst this schizoid existence, the mind registers.

In the light that flooded past the golden curtains that afternoon.
In the rush of the river carried you ever onwards.
I saw you.
Today, I resumed walking, watching the sun light up your beloved green.
But even the strays were lost