Over the hedges that framed,
Sweet glassy visions
That had met the earth and
Tasted her nativity,
You tossed,
A fondness so green.
Like the slim cresent
Of a chickoo that mother chopped,
Were those saccharine sugars,
Passing silence in the halls,
You tossed,
Frivolously.
Frisking a summer air,
And some showers in Port Blair,
Atlases and prim laundered cloths,
You travelled and tossed,
In sleep.
Fine lines and brush strokes,
That defined the costline,
On your parched paper,
Couldn’t secure delusion.
For you had tossed,
Her.
