The whimsical moon shot past me
like an arrow, in a flux
I saw it as a mirror
revealing myself to me.

My home.
I love sitting here
in the windy balcony
and flying in the night sky.

This is my home in Delhi,
Delhi away from Delhi,
my dream home
the home of my long-cherished desires
at the foot of the hillock
flowers all over.

Here I am given more
than I could ask for.
Peacocks dance
to the tune of the wild rain
camels graze,
birds of hue
sing lullabies to my tired soul.

My little son plays around
runs like the wind on the sloppy road,
the country road,
a feast to my eyes;
lying on my bed I watch
him with flower-like kids
flying audible kisses from there
at me
I hum a tune to myself
in my velvety voice
keeping a book close to the chest.

The pretty dappled trouts
with joyful haste
move in the aquarium
like the brook.
This was a present to my son
on his award of a medal –
he wants trouts
for he loves to see them
moving patient,
for not being noisey.

I arrange my home
with a careless care –
nightlong in winter, I hear the silence
silently here. In full moon nights
the nightingales sing frantically
in summer.
The passionate rain
with its vibrations
tinkle my inner self, here.
I discover a newer world
close to nature, close to
a power, unknown, and
rediscover myself.

I cry no more
my world is wet enough
here my heart is grilled
with green moss
I have transfigured myself,
the base of my harmony
is my loneliness.

I have just started
to count life beneath
my fingertips.