Twenty-One Degrees

Turn off driver's seat warmer.
Set the temperature to twenty-one degrees.
Set fan to face.
Set fan to defrost.
Don't open the door—it's pouring outside.

The loud music keeps playing:

"I never felt the need
to have a hand to hold."

Inside the car lies a family, charred.

A single mom in the driver's seat.
Two children in the back, choked by smoke—
perhaps asleep when it happened.

The airbag hangs deflated,
its brief act of mercy useless against fire.

A teddy bear, the lone survivor,

giving its statement warmly
to the investigating officer.

Outside, the rain falls softly,

and the air is filled
with the fresh scent of petrichor.

Chasing the Pie

I had none of it
yet it wasted
the game was lame
I played hide and seek
to be all through tricked.

It was always about
getting the pie,
never a blue-eyed,
had a blackout,
but turned a blind eye.

Though wasn't ever
a baffled fool
never learnt what
wasn't deliberately
taught at school. 

Times

There was no time
when I was a child.
I had to go to school,
learn this and that;
rest was homework
parents busy running
errands and for other things.

I grew up, fell in love,
started a family
found time still chasing me,
mindless rolling in between
work and home
never knew when I was
reposing in company
or restless alone;
vacation a check
 in the box to do
the routine I wondered
I ever knew

It rings, it stays,
it chimes
yet it pickpockets everyone
day and night .

The Knufe

The only instrument I have
Useless, it is useless
With the sharpest of knives
I'm blunt, incapable of understanding
My distress
I can only chop, slice a vegetable into pieces
of education, I miss the grandeur of wffwction

The bonding turns into a bondage
The connection into an absence
The words have fallen silent
The flow into a clot
We breathe death into life
Despite the resplendent, sharp knife.