CREATION
Antennae thrumming, 
Waiting for ideas to flutter by,
She waits with a net
To catch them like butterflies.
Lets them buzz in her head
And flow down through her hand
The throes of creation bleed blue
Onto the waiting paper.
Reams of longhand dry slowly but surely
Into patterns of euphoria,
As she sits back, spent:
A smile and a tear, the only witnesses.

27th July 2015,
For Dr. A. P. J. Abdul Kalam

All it takes is a shower, 
The gibbous moon is brighter,
The inky sky is bluer,
The stars deign to appear.
As I write this,
An ignited mind
Lit other lamps to the last
The spark was not dimmed,
The gentle giant
Is silent
He ascends to the heavens
Where maybe once his rockets pointed.