Slipped; not sure whether I fell.
Maybe I flew
into a loud check of colours.
A few grains ran deep roots,
something that revived at length
from diving into village pools
and dark cloudy, pregnant evenings.
From there till the red skies,
still hanging in the air-
only a modern cousin of childhood memories,
is what gets me lost in roots.
Yes, I went far
but pictures clear with a thrust now
like a sudden whiff of sun
seeping through young rubber tree leaves
that lines the path from home;
There, you can see the white roof from here.
The revolution and passion of the red sky
has moved in time
churning in the chaos of difference
as I started living in vibe and vibrance.
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