Daydreaming of Dibrugarh…


Serene lake sleeps with
rippling lullabies hidden within
its lotus scented bosom,

Trees stand tall clad in silver
or varied moods of pink humming rain-songs
to oxymoron whims of chameleon clouds.

Potpourri breeze is scented in caffeine sighs
of dewy tea leaves,
or scent of hursinghars withered at ughten,
or in aroma of rain soaked earth.

Early morning softly reverberates with
grumbled syllables of cooing doves
or dainty chirps of mynahs and sparrows,

Bamboo grooves huddle together
like rustic women gossiping about
shades of dahlias abloom,
dancing peacocks in the woods
and roses shriveled in tempest.

Afternoons are crisp as starched shirts
and tangy like berries
ripening on highest of boughs,
and evenings preen
veiled in versicolor organza of dusk,
sequinned in fireflies
their silence laced in symphonies of crickets.

I dream oft of that land cleansing
its feet in the whirling waves of Brahmaputra,
land of orchids and rainbows
where memories linger of a childhood lost.

The Incorrigible Me…


I refuse
to be modified
to suit stringent
and obsolete roles
of stagnant minds,
as a dress
scissored and tailored
beyond cognition.

myself to me
is being beautiful,
a leaf chartreuse, verdant
then tangerine and
later bronzed,
changing with seasons
doesn’t define me…

Poetry is Like Cafe au lait


A sip~
the virgin sip
tastes flippant as froth,
as aroma of metaphors fill
nostrils of intrigue,

then stronger flavors
from steaming lines, apparently
porcelained in meter,
concocted by syllables
beckon with sugared promises
of imagery and rich verbiage,

every taste
is a nuance of discovery
as caffeine essence
of poetry flows in your veins
inspiring insomnia
of contemplation…

Braided Clouds…


Braided mixed-emotion clouds
bridge distance from
surreal heavens to pragmatic earth
on a bemused twilight~
myopic, forlorn, sepia
all before know-it-all gaze
of a bay entangled
in her own riddling reflections.

The unbridled waters flow
unhindered by the broken bridge
of propriety, bending rules
beyond recognition,
and like Jack’s beanstalk
the cloud tower tethers sky and soil.

For dreams to climb
on tippy toes under night’s oblivion
to enact themselves
in psychedelic splendor
on straits of Morpheus
those strewn
in opium-kissed poppies
sighing hallucinations…

On Sunday Morning…


Dawn blossoms
in your embrace as a rosebud
unfurling its calyx
to a voyeuristic sun,

spooned in
complacent togetherness
draped in
mirage of invincibility
she plucks
a wizened moon
from myopic horizons,

a marigold sun
licks away last dredges
of espresso night,
while feasting
on choco-chip moments
of savored passion,

anonymous love story
written in sultry sighs of ambiguity
dissolves like mist
erased by sun-kissed fingers.

Verses of Winter


Coriander breath
sighed by a huddled kitchen
warming itself
in gasps of frostbitten stove,
blends in citrus honeydew realms
of a gossamer winter morn.

pea-pods pop out syllables
of a sumptuous delight,
to flavor insipid
moments of bleached twilights.

empty vases
yearn for daffodil daydreams
prematurely spawned
afore March,

eggs Benedicts congeal
on frozen porcelain moments,
while a lukewarm coffee
patiently cools
tired heels on tiles of boredom.

like a morsel
unswallowed and clogging
throat of contemplation,
a poem begs to burp
out its words in varied decibels

~ a pent up thought
scribbling itself on chameleon clouds
to emblazon the innermost emotions
of winter in hues of autumn…

Ignorance~ An Array of Vignettes


The innocent cherry blossoms,
tinted in candyfloss sighs
wither in ignorance,
unaware of the reason
they pepper the brow
of nascent dawn, emerging
from their chrysalis.

Oblivious is the moth
dancing in frenzied ecstasy
around the mistakenly revered
threshold of jaundiced streetlight,
of the cause of its demise
enthralled by the radiance
of a callous, indifferent moon
flirting with exotic oysters
amid cavorting tides.

The caterpillar
leads a chameleon existence
of metamorphosis,
unaware of its quaint sojourn
from the worm-like simplicity
within secretive translucence
to a variegated butterfly
blessed with nectarine sips
of sustenance in redolent meads.

The self-proclaimed
human omniscience fails to learn
the destiny hidden
within the depths of tomorrows
unraveled by the clock’s hands,
as he leads each day
assuming himself to the master
of his own treacherous fate.

Winter Moon


She sits forlorn,
wrinkled and wizened
on frostbitten grayish clouds
under the veil of mist,
determined to keep vigil
in December chill
warmed by distant embers
of shining galaxies.

She drinks from
that half- filled cup of coffee
left lukewarm on
the window sill,
breathing in the lingering scent
of roasted peanuts
and the luscious chocolate cake
you’d gobbled away
in gluttonous delight.

She is like honeydew,
or a tangy round slice of lemon
her breath scented in
scent of myrtle and pine needles,
she resembles to
to a shivering hungry beggar
a round golden bun,
to a crying child she appears
to be his favorite crunchy cookie.

She hums x-mas hymns
in the silence of falling snowflakes,
whispering fables from
dogeared volumes of Aesop
befriending insomniac asters
chilled by the winter frost,
her smile is reminiscent
of daffodils from bowers of March,
she scribbles her dreams
writing epistles in the fragrance
of blooming night jasmine.