Life of a Flower

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flowers smile in
the cascading sunshine
of volatile gold
and weep dewdrops
under night’s facade
of moonlit oblivion,

they droop at dusk
when the daylight begins
to fade and clouds express
their thoughts of adieu
by masquerading as
versicolor christmas flyers.

swaying to rhapsody
of the redolent zephyr,
they wink flirtatiously at
dainty butterflies and moths,
and sigh with envy
at glowing array of fireflies.

withering away
after a fragrant spell on verdure,
the flowers leave behind
a acerbic fruit of rawness
to ripen on boughs of life,
while the petal fall over earth
in a scented breath of devotion,
gradually mingling in humus.

flowers are alive
needing water and sunshine,
they have sentiments
responding to care and tenderness
their scented breaths
of affection wafting in wind,
are eulogies scribed in
appreciation of nature…

Within Realms of a Dream

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within surreal dream,
my consciousness floats
dangling between
reality and fantasy as
a pendulum in sway,
life seems a fleeting array
of distorted images
etched by imagination,
as opaque becomes abstract
transparency is misted
by the dewdrops of fancy.

in chimerical avenues
of distorted misconceptions,
the mind sojourns
confounded entirely by
hallucinations and delusions,
warding away into the straits
of labyrinthine catacombs,
away from banks of
a flagrant, vibrant reality.

a nascent sliver of reality
lingers on the gossamer visage
of fluorescent surrealism,
and clawing at this straw
consciousness seeks in vain to
emerge from procellous realms
of grotesque nightmare
of schizophrenia…

Untitled Vignettes of Morning

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(i)
sigh of verdant song
of spring reflected
in sparkling visage
of morning dew,
is like naive whisper
of a juvenile dream
yet to unfurl
its chatreuse realms
to mandarin sun.

(ii)

a sleepy bay
stretches lazy limbs
at dawn to erase
lingering kohl of insomnia
from vision of melting moon,
painting the sky’s complacence
in tangering moods
of cider-lorn fall.

(iii)

silver epistles are scribbled
on transparencies
of window’s intrigue,
in braille of beaded frost
as a prelude to
snowclad sublime of
an introverted january morn.

(iv)

cerulean fingers
of brine wriggle
in delighted anticipation,
eagerly rising and falling to
try and touch
the distant skies,
splashing sun’s frowns
in wistful fluidities.

Nascent Motherhood

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baby in the womb

Within amber realms
of anonymity and ambiguity,
lost in slumber of innocence
a soul awaits
the moment of discovery
of life’s versatilities and intrigue.

a tiny heart pulsates
like the dialogue
of clock’s garrulous hands,

while tiny hands and feet
curled as petals in a calyx
flutter at times to etch
tired smiles of maternal bliss,
making her yearn
for that bittersweet moment
of burgeoning anticipation.

crocheting dreams
on loom of complacent insomnia,
she speaks to the one
who swims within enceinte contours,
crooning lullabies
and sharing thoughts and feelings,

aware that the hour looms
when these umbilical ties
would be severed to
gather a new dimension
as a part of her body and soul
finds the angel wings of life…

womb

 

Kick of Candy

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baby in womb

Sailing within realms
of amniotic complacence
while anxieties soared outside
like moods of barometric mercury,
you were seemingly
too lazy to bother with
a breast or butterfly stroke
inside aureate fluidities,
while I eagerly awaited
that softly knocked greeting
which’d strum a caramel rain-song
on frowning lips of worry.

stock-footage-human-baby-in-mother-s-womb

Palms cold and clammy,
sought to feel the faintest of moves
tracing enceinte contours,
as murmured prayer was
whispered in ears of taut silence,
brine filled eyes
refused to shed tears lest they
be a harbinger of ill omen,
the clocks tick tattooed drum beats
as apprehension mounted
and anxious limbs sped towards
alleys of recourse or remedy.

baby-moving-inside-womb

The echo of heart beat
was placating and musical sounding
through maze of inanimate wires,
as a hesitant smile dawned
reminiscent of crescent moon
on tempestuous night-skies,
reassuring, professional words revealed
your innocent mischief

baby_foot

and with no bitter pills to swallow
sucking a proffered ├ęclairs
and pockets full of chocolate I returned
with you now apparently
riding an imagined bicycle inside
revitalized to spurn lethargy
after the sumptuous kick of candy.

Pregnant-woman-eating-chocolate

baby_kick

A Pocketful of Thoughts ( Vignettes)

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(i)
sorrows are dewdrops
licked away like treacle droplets
by tongues of sunlit volatilities,
~ as laughter sweeps away
cobwebby realities of gloom.

(ii)
moon weeps honeydew silences
on nights strewn
in whispered ambiguities,
while stardusted constellations
echo with versatile gossips,
as insomnia indulges in
moonlit rendezvous,
gulping on cafe noir darkness
to discover mysteries
hidden in obscure silhouettes.

(iii)
wind-chimes tinkle
under invisible touch of breeze
on shivering january morns,
punctuating snowflakes’ sonnets
in fluid musicalities,
that jar trance of frosts
frozen on window-pane clarities.

(iv)
venting pent up emotions
azure skies drench life in rain-songs
curdling complacence
of stoic potholes with syllables
garbled like reverberations
from a broken string of pearls.

(v)
dancing in falling rain
peacock fans brocaded expectations,
spun of versicolor silk
~a blend of thoughts from
verdant earth and blue heavens,
uaware of the rose’s plight
as fingers of heartless tempest
pluck away its scented petals
to scatter on the grass
like tattered, withered hopes.

If Love Could Paint the Sky

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if love finger-painted
her versatilities on the azure canvas
bland familiarities of noon sky would be colored
in its spectral moods,
twilights and dawns not just transient graffitis
expressed on skies’ complacence.

rainbows would laugh in abstract shapes
on cornflower heavens,
revealing myriad sentiments braided in love,
like lyrics of a romantic strain
splattered in variegated fonts on sky.

tempests would smear skies
with their unpredictabilities more often,
cafe noir of love’s angst being spilled in greys
on the cobblestones of stars.

while sunshine wooing
shadows with gold-dusted promises,
would be the reflection
of the flush of first love and desire,
as love indulged in painting exploits.