I scribble along the path that joins our homes.
I sketch a scarecrow, make yellow paint marks
on Coconut trees, spray maroon on the Beer hoardings—
all in a hope
that if you do fall in my love,
you can follow my lead.
By Jay Gandhi
at the noise.
to the yellow squiggle.
Kaleidoscope a still symphony.
Music is stillness.
its surface there are green bass notes,
red treble, wooden mallets on metal.
When your eyes focus on one part,
colour orchestration deepens, zooms
into oily white chord runs. When are you
Between the notes.
By Paul Brookes
Clutching her mother’s coat sleeve
holding on to the warmth and security,
of grey white and red checkered tweed,
a natural bond, but a futile struggle,
someone larger than life led her aside,
slowly pulled away, she let go-
swept away by a figure,
clad in thick folded clothes, she
drifted along the blended figure’s
firm movements, brisk and balanced-
suddenly, all was quiet as she tried to
look back, her mother’s painful silent
but determined gaze was no longer visible,
neither was she-
the figure’s movement went
on to a door marked ‘KG’
small chairs and tables filled the hall
a large black board stared at her
eyes now tearless, body obedient, mind
blank- she sat down and gazed back-
movement two had begun-
2019 © CER Anjum Wasim Dar