I have
In my possession
Not much but few
Belongings of my own
Nicotine fingers
The aroma of tea
In my head,
Few scattered thoughts
To write
Few more words
With disappearance
Of light and another day
Haphazard row of books
In silence, the inhabitants
Of my existence
The silent friends
Not a word they utter
I have
In my possession
Only myself,
The prisoner, the captor
I have
In my possession
Not much, but few
Tiny droplets of rain
In colour, in dreams!