Routine Beauty

28th February 2006
Soft are the cushions I sit on
and cool is the summer air

How fresh are the trees around me
where grow flowers known to be rare

Warm is the sun on my face
and gold are the drops of dew

How fragrant are the flowers
near graceful peacocks, two

Safe is the place I am standing
between these many great mountains

How sweet is the water I drink
from dainty glowing fountains

Soft is the rustle of wind in the leaves
and deep is the waterfalls roar

But all its affect is wasted on me,
For I've heard a thousand times before.
P.L.Rao

Cries

8th May 2008
They all love me so much
somehow I know.
But when I do something
They all scream
and scream
and scream
I just don't understand
and they scream
and scream
and scream
Why must I only understand
when they scream?
And scream!
and scream.
That we could just talk
to eachother, I dream.

With each scream they somehow rip
every seam
after seam . . .
after seam.
They love me so much;
why must I see
them scream-
and scream! . . .
and scream
at me?