Just now

I counted all the leaves in the tree till I reached the last that fell down. It was winter, and I used it to warm my palms. But I forgot my count. That’s when my days felt lovely. 

Ode to a flower

I asked her, how do you feel beautiful flower, knowing of your short life. She said, why do you waste precious moments in contemplation and soak in the joy of my being.    

 

Love lasts

He was the ink she wrote her love stories with. One day, the bottle rolled over and crashed. Walking to sea, she washed her ink soaked palms. Spreading love everywhere.