... extraordinary things will come running out of my pocket.
- G. K. Chesterton
I

I always keep a soiled photograph
of Charlie Chaplin in my pocket
while I go out.
I walk among the crowd
and see buried heads of people.
Charlie askes me smile.
I stand on the over-bridge of the railway station
and look at the soiled pages of books.

The tied-up horses,
grazing on the autumnal grass
know that I’m a magician
who knows that burning coals
look like flowers.

Charlie opens my bird-windows,
fish-windows and make me bloom
like a river.

II

I always carry
a sea-green comb in my pocket.
But never I use it, except being at home.
But when I carry it,
I hear it speaking of a sea-floor,
numerous animals move, dance and sing.
It informs me than
the world is larger than the one we see.
III

A bird-feather, snow-white
I must keep in my pocket
of my t-shirt along
with a few cinnamon-seeds.
This makes me feel lighter,
to remind me of my trip to Galudi-forest
and of that to the Thirparrappu-fall.
Those who take bird-feather with them
know quite-well that
birds often lay eggs into our spinal tubes.

IV

I adore a fire-tale in my pocket.
I collected it from Dinshahitala,
a saint’s place.
When I’m around a campfire
I take it out
and free it among the people around.
The others also do the same.

I come to know that each one
has a fire of his own and its fairy tale.