Like a lady in leisure's carefree feet on a parlour woman's lap I dipped mine into the streams of Neyyar. Thoughts started to stream provoking a poem out of place. Too amateur a writer I am to put down the saddest of the lines. In the deepest of emotions I fail to pen. Ornate words and popular sadness were expired pills for sad poems! I fetched for an ending note not to scream But to cease poetry. 'Today! I can write the...' I called Neruda to Neyyar to fill the rest. "Done with the service" the fish alarmed me with kisses while I winked at the stagnant sky "Mercy Love Compassion" "Mercy Love Compassion" repeated a Saint!