Straits of Slumber  

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Lying with troubles cradled

on softness of cuddly pillows,

eyelids droop as sleep

lulls thought and action alike,

cajoling them into dormant slumber,

while in the straits of somnolence

psychedelic dreams concoct fairy tales.

Unfulfilled desires, unrequited cravings,

conspire with unrestrained imagination

to spin fragments of silken fantasy,

which come together in vibrant patterns

on magical kaleidoscope of Somnus,

letting hopes and lusts bloom

like daffodils drinking honey

from golden cauldron of the heavens.

With the wildest of magical things,

future telling orbs, flying horses, castles of sweets,

trees telling stories and rivers of molten gold,

that never attainted in reality germinates

and blossoms on dreamland’s fertility,

such that the pain of failure

is benumbed by the salve of fantasy.

Hallucinations and delusions

strewn in the alleys of Morpheus,

smudge their traces on fairy-tales spun

as dawn-kissed candy-floss,

tasting like honeydew on palate of fancy,

unicorns, pixies, mermaids and witches,

together inhabit this land of oneiroi,

where jaded practicalities of existence

are sugar-coated in saccharine granules

of fantasy and mystique.

Fairy-tales of Meads

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Wisteria in Rapunzel tendrils,
wearing shades of dusk’s husky laughter,
in mauve, violet and lavender,
hangs its curly mane on chiseled silences,
for flirtatious moths to ascend
humming rhapsodies of desire.

The butterflies vain on dainty wings
flutter in scented zephyr,
preening themselves in dewy mirrors,
to hail themselves as
the prettiest of all those alive.

The love story of Clytia reiterates itself
from dawn to crepuscule
in the enamored gaze of lovelorn sunflower,
who droops at variegated twilight
to simulate the slumber of Sleeping beauty,
awaiting the golden kiss of prince sun.

The rose blushes in throes of first love,
basking in sunshine and drizzle
enthralled by the sublime melodies of lark,
it dreams of falling in love,
like the princess imprisoned in a castle,
until the robin with passion in its breast
paints rainbows on the canvas of its desires.

When snow drapes soil’s sunburns
salving its blistered realms,
from fertility’s womb emerges the daffodil,
as a fragrant, fragile snow white,
brightening the drab environs
with stardust sequined smiles,
under the shade of the dwarf-like boughs
covered in candy-floss snow.

Savoring these fairy-tales of nature,
unfolding in fragments of fancy
the soul is rejuvenated and spirit lightened
leaving tranquil symphony floating
in the depths of jaded existence.

Happy Endings…

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Fairy tales are like fragments

of candy-floss dreams from realms of Morpheus,

concocting a kaleidoscopic delight

of fantasy and wistfulness,

to be savored by the gullible soul

with a faith in happy endings.

When the drab realities of life

its harshness, scars, bruises and emptiness,

make living an insipid chore

and dejection makes breathing tedious,

then some stolen moments

with a dog-eared treasure of magical lore

rejuvenates and heals,

reviving the fading belief in happy endings.

Fairy tales are like conjurer’s sleeves,

from whence emerge,

the unbelievable, fantastic and amazing,

a flying carpet, a talking mirror,

a fruit of immortality, a castle in the clouds,

the wildest of imagination

germinating on the fertility

of a storyteller’s canvas,

and yielding these arms of fantasy,

the pragmatic is slain

to enhance the flavor of existence,

as a smile glitters

to define yet another happy ending.

Amnesic Anecdotes Scented in Caffeine

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(i)

tongue scalded
by an absent-minded sip
I bit back both cry and curse,
and gulped down brew
both unsweetened and angry,
aroma rising with
steaming plumes to flavor
a surreal moment
gestating with tension
and anticipation witnessed
by demitasse fragilities,
when two individuals
talked nuptial affiliations
over coffee~
trying to forge a relation
between strangers
who remained as such.

 

(ii)

Cramming unseen chapters
from unfamiliar volumes~
never cajoled in
careless overconfidence,
on the night before final tests,
befriended by adrenaline
and caffeine in overdose,
left eyes red-rimmed,
pulse racing to compete with
electric shuttle or rocket launcher,
mind like scrambled eggs,
fireflies within my rib-cage
~fluttering and burning,
while I blankly stared
at questions refusing
to be answered.

 

(iii)

Within my pocket
were some crumpled notes
and wilted longings,
after a weekend of splurging
I could ill afford,
yet a glow-sign beckoned
with aromatic promise,
‘Madras Café’
and I entered to lavish
the last of my money
for a taste of famous filter coffee,
made from fresh beans,
unlike its instant cousin,
insipid and limpid.

 

(iv)

Forced to drink
an obnoxious excuse
pantomiming as coffee,
pouring from faceless machine
in coughed out measly dribbles
to rejuvenate
tired sighs of routine drudgery,
I oft carried pouches
of coffee granules
to polish tarnished smiles
and erase lethargy’s shadows,
unable to stomach
the free tasteless brew offered
in the guise of coffee.

 

(v)

Over shared
coffee and camaraderie,
on a soggy monsoon evening,
we relived memories
of another time and place,
within a bubble of oblivion
nostalgia adding a glimmer
to echoing laughter,
as new memories
were formed to embellish
a dishwater existence.

I bought a broken song…

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I bought a song for the silent coin

in my pocket with no kin to

make its jingles with,

~ a wilted, stilted number

with a faded whimsy in its soul,

like autumn’s bronzed whisper

or a dove’s withered feather–

orphaned and forgotten,

dreaming of cloud-kissed flights.

 

It ailed with amnesia,

its lyrics like sepia reminiscences

of an octogenarian,

the words ambiguous, illegible

~letters written

on frosted windows in winter,

or pictures finger sketched

on wet ocean sands.

 

Its tune was an echo~

soft and tired,

after meandering through

the glens leading nowhere,

lingering on tongue’s tip

but too elusive to be voiced,

yet adamant enough

to refuse being recalled.

 

I tried to fill my sullen silences

with its somewhat rancid sweetness,

trying to hum its tattered lines

its vacuous pauses filled

with patch-worked words,

but meaning was lost

leaving minutes stained in

softly crooned gibberish.

 

I sang it with

a self-concocted panache,

as a lullaby to put worries to sleep,

make eyes of insomnia droop,

but the moon and stars

joined in the stilted chorus

to compose a nocturne,

eulogizing the night.

 

I gifted it to my beloved,

sprinkling flowery wording,

to adorn its sparse realms

filling colors of romance within

the insipid lines,

it blossomed with fragrance,

reincarnated as

the symphony of our love.

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…