I's order in the universe/ the archival weight of High and Low selves

Now toss your inflated me
on the tightly knitted net of my I.

Does it bounce back to
your own face
of playground?

Do you remember the mask
on your face was very heavy once?
And not you
but I bore the weight of it
when you reflected it in
the mirror of my I.

I have recently thrown away the mirror
you gave me
at my birth.

I don't know how old I am
and when born
but I now think of celebrating
my birthday.

There are new flowers
touching my lips.
I am surrounded by sounds of
falling waters after a long frozen sleep.

I am ready with my reins
holding them tightly.

Don't throw any extra weight
on my spiral I
lest it bounces back
and can hit at the nose of your me.

The rotating earth has spun
the threads of my I
this time.

The last word: I know the universe
and I's order in it.

Vinod Vema

They are very far

Dark,dim,depressed faces

look at the distance

of horizon once held in their wrists.

Eyes in their eyes

gaze thorough wrinkles

at walls of cold plaster

painted ten years ago.

Vertically climbing sons

and daughters

one day had a break

and were lifted to unknown floors

leaving behind home,walls and old furniture

and history.

On these faces the wrinkles

deepened into a puzzle

in geometry of three dimensional shape

of a sculpture

of an abandoned old mother

who begs ancestoral gods early death.

They are very far from

our kind of glance

from height of our apartment

and love under a flatted roof.

Vinod Verma