Medley ~Versatile thoughts in Vignettes


love letters
scribbled by fingertips
of winter sunshine,
on burnished epistles
of autumn
in wilted November,

in cinnamon syllables,
a fragrant tale of love
nascent yet withered
from boughs
of vibrant imagery.

of stale cappuccino
in paper-cup preoccupations,
remind of conversations
in moonlight
between the starstruck.

of a precocious dawn
are painted in medley of hues
as reiterated colors
on azure canvas at gloaming.

cobblestone sores
are pitchers of pouring rain,
rippling with
rhapsodies born in
tempest’s tenebrosities
and oft crooned
by wet, rustling foliage.

croissants are
like moments of love
shared in togetherness
lingering sweetly
on tongue of reverie.

Stubborn~ An array of vignettes…


it stands in thunderstorm
refusing to succumb
to temptation
of reclining under
dewy caresses of raindrops.

they shatter
into syllables of brine,
yet continue
to break themselves
against relentless igneous.

wanting its desire,
screeches in
stubborn disapproval…

Ode to Cerulean Tides…


are relentless,
tireless and adamant,
perseverance on
chiseled contours
of igneous,

apostles of brine
against indifference
~ brine of tortured emotions
born of harsh adversities.

cerulean tides
resonate with life’s strain
echoing eternally across eons,
seagulls breech
quietude of the sea shore
with cacophony
blending in waves’ strain.

a glutton ocean swallows
golden morsel of a versatile sun,
while trickling hues of crepuscule
are reflected on
sea’s visage of turmoil~
by receding evening light.

within aquamarine depths
mysteries hide and sagas breathe,
seahorses and oysters sail,
remnants of some ship
dilapidated in a seastorm,
mermaids n’ sirens
add fantasy
to realms of pragmatic.

on aureate sands ashore,
fragments of seawaves
drench and break
fragile castles of sand,
scattering seashells n’ conches~

like broken pieces
of a giant, pretty doll
lying on the quiet beach
as phrases
of nature’s poetry eager
to be wreathed into verse.

Ode to An Old Man…


are like orange peels
sun-kissed by summer skies,
with poetry
of life’s experiences,
oxymoron moods~

scribbled within
these fine streaks
quilled by age
on visage of existence.

them on skin
once unblemished,
complimenting snow of hair
dusted on tresses
like stardust,

your myopic eyes
yet curious and innocent
bracketed in crow feet,
laughter etched
under your lips in lines,
like anecdotes of bliss.

you are
reflection of
those morrows yet to come,
when peering through
glasses perched on nose
I would indulge
in armchair escapades
in catacombs of reverie.

Nature’s Personifications…


She sits on her haunches
eagerly peering into versatile bay silences
unaware of homecoming delights
of nestlings within rustling leafage,
impatient for constellations to be
sequined on indigo,
while her variegated thoughts
transiently splash themselves
like modern art watercolors on
darkening scowl of azure
and a mandarin sun
leaves its laughter scattered in
evanescing citrus photons
on the visage of marmalade clouds
somewhere a cricket sings
in careless asynchrony of juvenile zest~
she is twilight.

She leaves handprints emblazoned
on cornflower mildness of morn–
resembling lotuses abloom on the sleepy lake,
her smiles are scented in
mysteries of night jasmine’s rendezvous
with the fading moon
and gaucheness of virgin tea-leaves
yet to unfurl chartreuse realms,
she fingerpaints stars on bosoms
of rivers enceinte with restlessness:
despite a deceptive serenity,
fondling drowsy heads of drooping flowers
to awaken them yawning redolently,
while a rooster crows its aubade~
she is dawn.

She brandishes her spatula
in a potpourri of piquant aromas
emanating from her kitchen,
she is a whimsical painter
splashing fiery shades on
fluttering bosoms
of commonplace verdure,
with a topaz moon in her palms,
she softly serenades
the angst of boughs
denuded and silenced
while indifferent sidewalks
preen clad in fireflame verses~
she is autumn.

She has songs
brewing like bleeding tea leaves
within a romantic soul,
with fragrances nurtured
in variegated bowers in her embrace,
she brocades rainbows
on fertile expectations of soil
using an imagination
borrowed from vagrant clouds,
as an innocent voyeur
she witnesses the moon flirting
with shy oysters
hidden within brine turbulences,
she is spring.

She is the exuberance
of a waterfall descending on
silver stilletoes echoing musical notes
on slick mosses of pebbles,
her citrus breath
reminiscent of lemon blossoms
fills freshness in
nostrils of aureate morns,
her oxymoron moods
splatter themselves in
molten kaleidoscopes on
balmy epilogues of daylight
while a cricket strums
evensongs in summer breeze~
she is summer.

She wears her mixed feelings
as the salt and pepper in her hair,
she is the meditation
of snowclad pines on shivering morns,
the lukewarm caress of middle-aged sun
forming chiaroscuros at noon
under the boughs of gulmohur,
the aroma of roasted marshmallows
and foamy cappuccinos,
she is translucence on window-panes
shimmering in sunlight,
with the distant memory
of innocent fingers doodling
thoughts on sighs of boreas,
she is a prismatic snowflake
peppering pragmatic trails,
in chiseled rainbow sonnets~
she is winter.

She showers
liquid benediction on arid earth,
converting puddles into musical chimes,
on grey celestial canvas
her desires blossom in transient vibgyor,
she is nature’s symphony
born on rustling foliage keys,
the ecstasy of a dancing peacock
fanning a turquoise brocade
in the moistness of tissue-paper days,
she is nectar of rejuvenation
breathing life into sinews
of the blistered and withered~
she is monsoon.

Chanted Lines of Poetry


When I die~
embalm my skin with sonnets
fresh n’ fragrant
from the stalks of imagery,

shower me
not with reluctant roses
and strings of singed marigolds,
but let poetry
echo from hard bound silences,

let murmured hymns
whispered threadbare down eons
be replaced with
lines of vibrant vignettes~
replete with emotion,

read to me
from volumes of ornate metaphor
bathing me in
dewdrops of imagination,
pour a fluid cinquain
down my parched throat.

cover me
with a spun fabric
sequined in versicolor haiku,
such that
the flames of blazing pyre
chant verses
to ignite poetry in
fertile minds of posterity…

Withered Verse


water-melon days
fringed in curdled hazel horizons
race on invisible feet,
moments trotting away
to blend into obscure mists
of a memory-shackled yesterday.

every morning
like a frangipani blooming
bears promises of versatile tasks
to tackle and tussle to completion,
yet the kitchen and laundry
together seem a monstrous chore
refusing to be finished.

cobwebs sneer
in the corners, cupboards
are like confusion redefined,
window panes
myopic with dust films
glare blaming incompetence,

the sink is eternally
enceinte with dishes,
the broom seems to me
a newly grown appendage
of my dusting, mopping limbs.

my pen languishes
on polished surface
of literary escapades now lost
in mundane preoccupations,
as poetry blossoms
and withers in thoughts
like the blooms of sakura,
never to be
eternalized in ink…

After the Murder…


slices of stale bread,
morose, wrinkled potatoes
defining dejection,
dust forms serene film
of visage of today,

the newspaper lies
still rolled but unread
and its news already obsolete~
molding cabbage
sneers its breath a stench
knocking on
indifferently shut windows.

within a bubble
this room remains oblivious
to the racing tomorrows
mutating into yesterdays,
a myopic calendar
peers at peeling wallpaper
to discern the accuracy
of its outdated predictions

while a snobbish wall clock
ticks with aplomb
monitoring passing seconds
the only change
echoing in this cobwebby quietude
as curtains thirst
for gulps of fresh breeze.

wrinkled, rumpled
the bed sheet peppered in dust
grimaces at ceiling fan
hanging redundant overhead,
photo-frames are cages
with memories stagnant within
~ orphaned and forgotten.

cushions wear crinkles
the mirror frowns in grime,
stains of dried crimson
on the mute floor
reflect a saga of horror
yet awaiting interpretation
in corridors of legal procedure…

Meeting A Cheater…


I met him
after years in a train,
~ an unavoidable prank
of the elf kismet,
forced to paste
a fake smile
trimmed to perfection
to avoid misinterpretation.

he had
silver in his hair
and crowfeet too,
but that smile
was still slimy~
dipped in cheese sauce
and rancid too
stale from overuse.

fixing my eyes
to the pages of a novel
I doggedly pretended
concentration and indifference
to discourage
any conversation,
despite hints of cleared throat
voiced hesitantly.

he settled behind
a reluctantly spread newspaper,
oft sipping noisily
from a lukewarm cup
of dishwater cappuccino.

the train halted
he descended for water, chips(whatever)
I hastily picked his cup
and spit in it,
for once glad for
the scanty number of passengers
travelling with us,
and hid my smile
behind the ignored novel
lest I burst out laughing…

Fragments of Allure


tiny feet
leaving mud prints
on marble-steps
of worship,

rose petals peppered
on wet soil,

hennaed palms
imprint auspicious hopes,
on walls
of warm welcome,

mellifluous sounds
of temple bells
pious silence
of vermilion dawn.

of falling snow,
blending with citrus aroma
of mandarin winter morns,
and fresh breath
of pine needles.

on barren loom
of autumn’s apostles,
honeydew moonlight
sleeping bay
in rippling ambiance.

marigolds in July,
forlorn faces
of bygone spring
~a potpourri verse
of nature.