Caffeinated Moments…

Standard

cooling porcelain heels
on moonlit contours
of brooding, insomniac silences,
it breathes
aromatic syllables
of caffeine promises-
alluring lethargy
with mirages of agility,

an addicted tongue
basks in bittersweet flavors,
while the pulse races
like a tired horse
flogged into swiftness
on wings of transient surge
of whimsical adrenaline.

Advertisements

Meaningless

Standard

With years having peeled off
the trunk of existence
like scaling bark of eucalyptuses,
revealing ditch-water realities
beneath silver veneer of invulnerability~
naivete of the juvenile,
myopic fading eyes
find vision along with crow-feet
to acknowledge difference
between shimmering mirages on asphalted lies
and lilting laughter of
a brook benevolently quenching thirst.

Sandpaper mornings
seek to polish tarnished smiles
pasted on visages of insomnia,
as reminiscing hot delicacies from a table
long sold, I gulp down coffee
for both agility and anorexia,
while an angelic smile of innocence
embellishes my drab day in sequins of delight
to fill the emptiness within
with nectarine hope.

Follies of a careless youth
haunt tired days seeking reprieve,
trying to cram insides of racing moments
with activity, I search for oblivion,
for fulfillment in an insipid life~
singed , shriveled and battered.

Once where fluorescent dreams floated,
now umbras of pain fleet,
casting eerie silhouettes on days~
the clock beckons
me an automaton
bleached by circumstances
of hues, aroma and intrigue~
integral for living–as I keep existing
for yet another day
— a meaningless phrase
yet to be erased…

Between Teacups and Clotheslines…

Standard

Curls escape like wayward whims
from a stoic bun of stolid indifference,
as sweat beads pepper
furrowed brow of worry
like water droplets on lotus leaves,
trickling down oft to imitate
defrosted sigh of winter,
flowing down glass panes at noon.

Hands wrinkled, weather-beaten,
resembling that of her grandmother
–having endured many a frothy tussle,
wear rings dulled and faded by time
like sepia photographs in dogeared albums,
now wedded to fingers forever
and beyond~ only to be rotated in
fuming moments of urgency.

Within flour canisters she hides
meager savings of bargain and thrift
~ like miser’s gold-pot buried underground,
while she reigns supreme as a sorceress
surrounded by luscious aromas and flavors,
wielding her spatula as a wand
to create magical delights on fire-flames.

Humming fractured lines of lyrics
half-forgotten and fabricated,
she talks oft to herself just to ensure
that her solitude has not maimed
those long learnt conversation skills~
disuse atrophy perhaps?
For dinnertime woes and complaints
are hardly versatile enough
to qualify as a dialogue.

Refereeing squabbles and pillow fights,
absentminded daily appointments with soap operas
just to forget her petty troubles,
while the needle knit patterns of affection
for limbs long outgrown
as she fails to steal moments of respite,
the ticking moments befriend
her insomnia as she ponders
on impending problems
in murmured prayers for survival…

Snippets from a Wallflower’s Life..

Standard

within drab vases she displayed
the simplest of wildflowers plucked
not for the exotic uniqueness
she professed to treasure
but to prevent any comparisons
being drawn in beauty,
while her trusty but ugly potpourri
added fragrance.

drawn curtains
and shimmering candlelight,
to concoct an aura of romance
or to spin a reticulum
of silhouettes and mystique
to envelope
her less than average looks
within gossamer allure
of magic and mystery.

with her laconic words
her taciturn attitude she sought
to discourage closeness,
lest informality and warmth
breed contempt for one
who cold never be
but a firefly beneath
velvet skies sequined and bejeweled
in poetic fantasies.

while always blending
into anonymity,
like the shadow which holds
a flame in itsĀ  palm,
she was the calyx in a rosebud~
holding the petals together,
the silence which enhances
sweetness of a lark’s melody.

retstraint and stoic control
defined her,
she was a wallflower
who was too scared to yearn
for ephemeral fragrance,
despite her thirst to breathe
redolence into bland breeze
like the bowers of flowers
she has always secretly envied…