Gift of the Magi

A brown paper parcel, frayed at the edges,
My name crumpled into hills and vales
By the transit.

A gift.

For me!

I open it.

Two Lipsticks and a Letter.

I am not much of a lipstick woman.
And pink and peach are not at all my colours.

On my overflowing dresser, I let them lie,
Lonely and lost, amongst the M.A.Cs and Maybellines.

But then, there is the letter.
It is short but says a lot:
Gratitude. Respect. Affection.
Floods my eyes
And my jaded, broken soul.

What is a lipstick actually worth?


Not too sure but I wear lipstick a lot these days.
Pretty Pink and Pale Peach.
Smile at the mirror
And watch my self-worth grow.

A Haiku Morn

It will be a Haiku morn:
Cloud-gray skies
and the cold of the night past-
still floating,
like plumes of unseen evening mist.

Warm smoke
And a pale, green-tea smell from the roadside cart;
Dark moss on the cobbled canal walls.

A few errant leaves will go floating by.......
Unhurried-
Rust boats on that jade-green stream.

Through the trees and the mist,
Fuji will peep: all white and faintly smoking-
An old man,
playing the Hide and Seek game,
From a childhood,
Long gone.

The cherry blossoms will cast a rose-pink shadow-
Bathed in it
I will wait-
Always.............
For you,
On that pink-drenched Rumi field.