I remember counting my steps as a child

From our hut down the stream

Every day on my way there and back

How when spanked for some mischief

I rushed to the garden to weep

And nocturnal birds imitated my sobs

How I heaved a sigh and went silent

Seeing reflection of the starry sky in a puddle of rainwater

and realized how the flower bearing shrubs

That grows around the hut formed around me

a colourful protective moat from the darkness beyond


For a long time life felt like those steps from the stream

Same path, same steps and everyday counting

Over and over again

How these memories come back now

Like projected pictures in a theatre hall

And am alone in the darkness all seats empty

I am the stream flowing seamless

With no need of counting

I am a nocturnal bird imitating other’s sobs

In this garden – world–of constant sorrow  

I have drunk all the stars in the rainwater puddle

and sigh no more

a fence of flowering shrubs around my heart


Whenever I want I can be eight again

Sitting on the rock terraced slope

Of the old church hill

White warm pebbles of a Saturday midmorning

Among a colony of periwinkles

Looking out on the yon still morning lake

Little passion fruit seeds on my smeared cheeks