Scribbles 

Mouse scurrying around the house, 
stops near the site 
where remnants of a delicious meal 
are scattered around, 
to find a slice of meat 
he saw others enjoying 
at a dinner table 
yesterday. 

Upon finding his favourite cut, 
he smells the scent 
to visualise how welcoming 
would his other senses feel 
once he took a bite. 

Good food for thought, 
he would say! 

Eggshell

I agree,
since you have ingredients
to make an omelette,
you got the right

to judge my broken egg.

Words

As the darkness rolls in,
the karaoke night of mice at my house
is in full swing:
they snake around a network of hedges,
talking in riddles
with the disjointed pieces of a tale,
that they secretly narrate
to their friends
to dupe me.

Their slight eye movements
trigger the eardrums
to look too,
for a navigation map
that they think has the license
to authorize their reckless movements
and a drunken state
at this hour of the night.

The remnants of a delicious meal
make for a lack of a map,
and they end up thanking me
for a blissful evening –
Lilliputians who use ink to blot us down
matter too,
they finally say.

~~~

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