Hungry

grey clouds
over misty eyes,
looking for that
insipid line
where earth meets sky,
pandering rain
falls away
like old quills,
the icy wind
howls and bites
into broken skin,
a long-doused fire
rekindled
and stoked,
melts
vagrant thoughts,
like lemon drops
held for long
on a warm tongue;
while fuming rotis
and
baingan bhartha,
beckon
a cocooned soul,
now hungry
for more,
of life.