The Guard

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queen in her isolate room
her waning life, capsuled
been long, she stepped out

pictures of her vernal bliss
framed to calm her fading sight
mirrors condemned
queen scorned
they are mean

Man on the door
trades her world…
his watchful eyes
on the young queen
strolling in the palace gardens
first day of his job
since then…

she knew it all along
but prefers the sanity
of unspoken madness
Her antsy heart, pounds
for a trivial reason
and he awaits
outside her walls, uptight
“when will you call?”

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Dynamo

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I stay in her house when I visit Ladakh. Her son is my dear friend though he doesn’t approve of my relationship with her. She is fond of me, very much and ditto. As of date, I’ve secured a few mother figures to compensate for one, she’s a special one. There was no water supply for three days and you need the water in the storage tank for cooking and bathing, leaves behind dirty linen unattended and that’s a reason suffice for the wayfarer to set out in the afternoon, hunt a spot by the banks of Indus river, make us wash our clothes on rocks and it was an event.
A picture of her after she wrapped.