As many spare afternoons as they always had
He spent following his most favourite fad.
Talking, sitting closer than fair and necessary,
Seeking an already long acquired treasury
In her eyes.

As she talked and expressively waved,
Each little or loud clink her bangles made
Matching now and then with the ring of her laughter,
He knew he madly tried to keep up and chase after
Her rolling eyes.

He saw her pluck one bye one the rose petals
That he took great care to bring her as he pedalled.
Soon he saw something and smiled an 'It's OK' smile,
The regret of what she'd been doing all the while
In her eyes.

But one afternoon he didn't sit at all any close,
Nor did he let her pluck petals of a daisy or a rose
For he whelmed her with not one but blossoms eleven.
And with just one gesture she answered his question,
Her affirming eyes.

It is on days as such
I feel alive very much
When winds talk to me
And make me feel free

In shimmering sunlight
That shines golden white
Everthing in my view
Looks serene and new

Those scattered grey clouds
They shroud from all doubts
Both my mind and soul
Now together and whole

I had a really beautiful Sunday!

I stumbled upon a strange page
The kind you find only in modern age.
Not made of papyrus or of any wood, 
Yet call it a 'log' why (I wondered) anyone should?

In a place that, usually, a spider spins,
Where men surf without tails or fins,
They called it a blog (web + log) and it came from
A place called w-w-w dot Blogger dot com.

Well, writ on it were such strange stories
Of sadness, despair, guilt and worries
That make your heart ache and spirits fall.
But soon, like all, you bump (head first) against a wall.

You'd made a mountain out of a molehill  
And laugh out loud against your will.
A little fun is what, there, everyone seeks
And that (dear friends) is the way Nandhini speaks.