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Just two things. Write so that we canunderstand you while lurching in public transportbook in hand and understand you becauseyou’re like us but..

Summer sunset lightsa mountain eagle; circles,shares blue sky with stars.

The boy Patanjali,flying his kite in the breezy Thiramurti hillsone day cut the thread; the kitesailed over the hills upon the wind;asked why he had..

O Lord, You are my own self..remind me, now, that my own self is You..and that’s about the measure of it:if I were to speak of You, or praise You,I..

Whatever that you think you lack – give that! ’ –this saying, heard, lodged in my mind a space;like seed that hides in earth – yet not inert:its..

It’s a snapshot, exceptbefore the age of the camerayet more of a decisive momentthan any posed paintingas any photographer,lighting director, would..

How soft the facesof listeners to musicthis summer evening!

Sometimes the keyboardgets fed up with sausage fingersand takes matters intoit own electric energies,its cyber wisdom that knowsonly nought and..

The thunder askedwhat is lightning?The root askedwhy is a flower?The pupil askedwho is the teacher?The space askedwhere is everyone?The circle..

This starry dawn - the wise men yet afar -the shepherds are abed, their night's task done.Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?All birth's a miracle;..

You’re walking down Princes Streetor across the market square, orin front of the museum, ortowards the bus or rail station..and he’s there, with his..

and sometimes I’m sitting, quiet,wondering whether a poem somewherewould like to speak through meand it doesn’tbut the stillness as I wait -that’s..

For you and you alone,Creation has somehow come about..for a moment, held its breathand then, breathed you,to demonstrate its awesome powers.For you..

When Hafizsang the poetry in his heartin the beautiful gardens of Shirazthey said his voice was likepouring light into a cupwhen the soul is..

In the dark unsleep of restless night,in the black heaviness of siesta in the sun,in the enchantments of the world,in a day of future dreams,the Lord..

Do you see lifethrough prose-coloured spectacles?or has the squid of poetryinked you into its tentacles?There’s much more rubbish writ in prose..

Who has a child in him so bold, to ask,‘But is there anything God cannot do? ’‘Yes! One thing – which to know, is your life’s task:God cannot..

The cuckoo's sad songsays it cannot write high coos -always six syllables!

‘So, what do you yourself wish forthis 2009? ..’ the microphoneis thrust; the videotape awaits…and perhaps, there’s some golden linkbetween New Year..

This is a formal announcement today:we have a new Poet Laureate.. hip hip hooray..‘But who is he? Oh.. it’s a she-poet Laureate…?so (because I don’t..

Never say it is not God.Hafiz said that, lived it.And that’s all really:no need to dress it up,make a poem of it,claim it, as ifI thought of it..

Only recently, you asked mefor my ‘Laws’ – as if you asked the Sunjust where his golden rays shall, in the moment, strike…and now you rashly ask me..

It has to be; one day, perhaps,we’ll know the wisdom absolute of this;and yet, and yet... I’m just a little sad,not to meet my self in previous..

Up the long flight of stairsevery tread echoes from stone wallsas if to comment on how stillnesstells of sound its silent origin.In the quiet..

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:That tastelessly named flu’s got her(She forgot..