The Forest [Free Verse]

A sprout sprouts from the dirt.

Above, dead leaves keep 
the tender leaf cool & moist.

Below, worms churn the soil --
churn and aerate. 

Fungi decompose the lowest leaf layer,
turning it into nutrients for the sprout.

I'm tapped into all that magic
from afar:

-creation & destruction,
feeding into each other

-energy becoming life,
life becoming matter,
matter that - 
in turn - 
becomes energy.

If there's a forest,
I am the forest.
I'm life and energy
&
 death and decomposition...

all in due time.

Mallick Ghat Market [Free Verse]

Loomed over by Howrah Bridge --
that big steel beast --
the flower market is a world of color,
marigold garlands in orange, yellow,
and alternating orange & yellow.

The odd stack of roses:
white, pink, and -- of course -- red.

White garlands with red accents.

Greenery.

Loose flower heads in piles,
pecked at by tiny birds
that bounce and flit.

Rose petals at risk
of being carried by a gust 
into a swirling cyclone of 
romance --
only to be left littered on
the muddy pavement.