Often

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