- Asha Kurien
First, a languorous slide off the tip of the paint brush
And then a fall into my glass
Now it uncoils itself
To writhe down the clear water
Unable to stand the slow descent
I pull the glass closer
Thoughts unstirred dissolve with the drop
In liquid clouds that rise
Till the bottom of the glass
Is curtained by a mellow whiteness.
Wind borne, the slender tamarind leaf falls
On the open page.
Quivering, it lies on the straight lines and scribbled words
Yellow and crisp, staring at the branch it left naked.
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