They lie like snow
Daisies growing in a vast green lawn
At Kew Gardens

It might sound odd
Something is moving below my bed
Rabbits, it seems

High on a corner
Watching life passing by
The deity sits still

The midday sun
Surmounts the sacred mandir
In the town’s market place
NB A mandir is a temple

Palms everywhere
Bikes and cows on the highway
Our Indian roads

Highly creative
His ideas challenging
He’s William Kentridge

Ev-er-y day
Surely succeeds yet another
Tomorrow follows