On some afternoons,
when I am sleeping,
a chameleon runs
from the guava to the hibiscus
across the cemented path in my garden.
I wake up
from my dreamless siesta
to see its changing colours.
But by then
it would have vanished
into its own secret colours.
If ever,
in the rest of my days,
I catch sight of it
to what stone shall I freeze it?
