Sitting on the bench
under this weeping willow,
I talk to you.
As I throw my voice across
the breeze catches my words,
and brings them back to me.
I make
water color images of you
on my paper.
Stroke after stroke,
using shades that I like
to fill the crevices and gaps within me.
Tonight I throw pebbles idly
into the stream.
As fishes gather around them
I talk about us to the moon.
Copyright © 2011 by Mamta Madhavan- All rights reserved