The knife is sitting there.
crushed
Fish pieces
It is near.
The cry of the cat
Knife too
Also in fish pieces
There is hiding.
Finished in cat
The sound of the fisherman’s horn
Scattered
Neem plants in the yard.
The sharpness of the burn
is withdrawn.
Very quickly
Kathi finishes acting his part.
Although there is no rush
To the point
Whenever it is built
Its haste
Like dancing
is expressed.
of fish pieces
the shadows
Swimming like small fish
On the granite in the kitchen.
They are not in the light
No hurry.
slow
on the edges
In carvings
They are drawing the sea.
Somewhere in the chest
There is a cat.
of its secrets
the darkness
Crying slowly!
On the lawn
Between haste and delay
The cat grows by itself.
Meenkaraman how many kitchens
is past
His fingers are full on the horn
of scales
Little skies!
On his lively journey
Through the chimneys
The rolling sea houses.
Starting from the sea
A way back to the sea.
Meanwhile only the knife
Very inconsistent.
Without spreading anywhere
It belongs to him
the beauty
Flowers are strewn along the way.
Those who trample the flowers
About the sea
Don’t even think.
Anthony K.V