Poetry is Born…

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as a sighed bubble
of prismatic syllables,
floating in
firefly strewn sunshine,
bursting within
the grasp of moments
to splatter dewdrops
of transience
on the face of noon~

poetry is born
to momentarily adorn
straits of the commonplace.

when a jaundiced thought,
wizened by reverie
speckled in variegated shades
of sentiments,
withers from
boughs of contemplation,
to scribe in dialect
scented and dulcet,
on the extensive papyrus
of nature~

poetry evolves,
a cinnamon epistle
audible in the whispers
of nutmeg fall,
the silent vigil
of topaz moon of harvest.

Bland Are The Moods of Winter

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Benign and blameless~
the mist clad, bland morn of December,
like a lingering gasp of cerise,
yearns for polychromatic epistles
scribbled on canvas of March,

Robbed of lush verdure
after transient lure of burnished golds,
denuded boughs shiver beneath
quilting heaps of winking snowflakes in
the faint honeydew sunshine.

Within frostbitten soil’s depths
the daffodil bulbs slumber
dreaming golden dreams,
while the meads hanker after
colors and fragrances of flowers.

Nights are silent
and draped in mystical fog,
unspeckled in stardust sighs
and the moon finds solace from
nocturnal vigil under
blankets of cotton wool clouds.

Its hues faded, lost, stolen,
a colorless winter
broods in its armchair of nostalgia,
reminiscing of bygone
versicolor springs
golden summers and cinnamon falls…

Lines of a Reborn Dream…

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Along flamingo circumference
of a blossoming morn,
lingers like silver remnant moon
a withered dream~
reminiscent of fallen flowers
of saffron-sublime hursinghars
or a fish stranded ashore
~dead and forgotten,

She picks it up in her caress
salving its sores
with honeyed syllables of hope,
singing nurturing rhapsodies
sequined in photons,

as a fledgling with wings
nascent and unfurled,
she croons it with lullabies
reverberating in quietude
of early light~
putting its daydreams to sleep.

Her fingers like paint brushes
of fantasy dapple
obscure hydrangea blues
in versatile rainbows
~ephemeral and evanescent
adding novelty to the commonplace,

She adorns her horizons
in peacock plumule~
snatches of elusive nature’s verse
her laughter echoing
in prismatic verbiage like
secret dialect of fluttering
butterflies’ wings.

Angel Whispers…

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glistening emotions
shimmer forlorn and lonely
on obsidian cheeks
in the gasp of insomnia,

to trickle down
cornflower blues at morn
to sequin the face
sleeping turquoise bay

or pepper prismatic dewdrops
on lips of shy rosebuds.

flamingo dawn
sheds feathers of cerise,

camouflaging mixed palette
of feelings, to don
serenity of swan plumage.

a drowsy sunflower
dozing on
drooping stalk of lethargy,

awakens to wet caress
of fingers of morning mist,

to wear photons
in its smile of scented whimsy.
as simile of a love-song.

secrets
of evanesced dreams
lingers as lunar sigh on azure,
to whisper
fancy of the angels
in the silence of citrus morn…

An November Morning

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An orphaned moon
lingers as an un-wiped tear
on bland brim of ughten,
as night blends into nothing~
scattering night-jasmines
on the bosom of sleeping earth.

azaleas, carnations n’ orchids,
blossom is fragrant celestial bowers
on sapphire clarities,
a perplexed sun awakens
with aureate yawn pulling
flimsy curtains of candyfloss clouds.

morning breeze sprinkles
dewdrops on sleepyhead roses~
a mother getting her children
out of bed and streaming dreams.

dewy grass tickles freshness
on her nude soles,
as she basks in warm treacle sunshine
photons are sequined on
tangled hair like wayward thoughts
to spin halos in early light.

tea leaves bleed
burnished fluidities in water,
and mixed with lemon juice
it leaves a citrus kiss emblazoned
on her thirsty lips,
as she savors untasted flavors
of a naive morn,
crisp as a golden croissant.

Café au lait moments…

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café au lait moments
frothy, bittersweet and creamy
flavored in variegated thoughts
peppered in sugar granules
blending with moody coffee spoonfuls

~are whispers of a carefree youth
when thoughts hopscotched
through redolent sunshine
and rain-song laced rainbows,

playing peek-a-boo through oriels
of intrigue and adventure,
casting dices in virgin oblivion
to challenge uncertain fate,

letting versicolor balloons
kiss austere and cornflower horizons
like myriads of potpourri emotions
scattering themselves–

their shades
painted o’er bland chiaroscuro
of mixed feeling existence
~a dusk frozen within
a bubble of time.

caffeine is
a calligraphy of hues,
it breathes fragrance in sinews
of a drab chequered verses
born of juvenile imaginations,
filling freshness
within drooping eyelids
of long, languid hours…

Dusk to Dawn…

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amethyst skies
at crepuscular hour
are reflected on sapphire waters,
as epistles of poetic calligraphy
resonating with versatile hues,

when the topaz sun
is gobbled as mandarin morsel
and periwinkle heights
pantomime a giant chrysoberyl,
of oxymoron shades
soon blending into
an obsidian night.

the opal moon
ailing with insomnia pours over
ivory, printed volumes,
in long hours of silent onyx night,
and the diamond stars
effulgent above peer at the lovers
painting rainbow dreams
within molasses of eyelashes.

budding chartreuse whispers
kiss fringes of
a blossoming tourmaline dawn,
the sky like an armful of scented orchids
with a silver lunar sliver
on the distant aquamarine,
like a half forgotten love song
lingering on edge of reverie.

Poetry is…

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Poetry is a stargazer~ admiring
constellations through
telescopic metaphorical adjectives,
gathering stardust on
fingertips addicted to printed word,
having verbs and nouns
sticking to them like ink,
and clutching a singed symphony fallen
from flaming comet-tails.

Poetry is a painter~
playing with consonant pastels,
watercolors blossom
on the canvas of reality,
using the crayons of simile
it plays on aisle and blank paper
every emotion or thought
finds shades and appearance in
the brush strokes of poetry.

Poetry is a gardener,
using tools of versatile imagery
to brocade blossoms on verdure,
fragrance born from flowers
floats above to scribble
verses on bosom of twilight,
toiling to nurture
saplings of metaphors,
watering them with adjectives
and redolent vowels budding
on the stalks of imagination,
pruning the wayward and commonplace
to be-ribbon flowers
in gerund intricacies to form
a bouquet of redolent poem.