She is an orphaned sigh of fall…


she holds a halloween broom
in wizened frailty
of a preoccupied grasp,
carelessly sweeping piles
of amber and burnt orange lyrics
withered from lips
of rustling wind-songs,
in hasty strokes~
oblivious to whispered poetry
floating in colorful swirls
tinged in dusty sighs
under her bare feet.

she has penury of fall-
its helpless silences scribbled
over her wrinkled complacence,
the cinnamon piquancy
of whimsical autumn echoing
in inarticulate susurrus
leaves her unmoved,
as lost in her introspections~
her pragmatic worries
about winter’s expenses
etching frowns on her quiet.

apple cider sweetness
of scented breeze of whimsy
leaves moments flavored in honey,
but this fails to dilute
the bitterness dealt by life,
clearing sidewalks
of yellowed, mottled molts
she yearns to similarly sweep away
all rancid ugliness
from cobblestones of survival.

the magic of autumn
leaves her weary thoughts untouched
she grips her broom as an anchor
in brewing tempest storms
yet nascent in wombs of balmy evenings,
seeking to hide behind facades
of abstract woes,
her soft gaze unseeing
while abstract graffiti thoughts,
paint rainbows in lives
parched by blazing summers.


She was a Tainted Sigh…


a trampled rose
bruised in purple sighs
its fragrant innocence lost
in harshness of suffocating dust
is a callous blasphemy
of nature’s generous blessings.

a bird maimed
its wings torn by cruelty
watches azure skies
with yearning to kiss clouds
and soar like hope.

she was untouched
sacred as an unfurled flower bud
unsullied and pure
as virgin glow of sunrise,
with naivety of dewdrops in
smiles like liquid rainbows.

she had incandescent dreams
her life a collage of scented desires
laughter like tempest cascade
exuberant with silver syllables,
a poetry scribed in incense
by versatile moods of life.

but marauded she endured
the sacrilege of her tainted virtue,
like a song scattered in
whithering petals faded and scentless,
her cries lost in indifference
and her frail attempts
at survival futile she became
a dead, burnt leaf of fall,
vagrant and forgotten
in the humus of melancholy.

She was a Paper Lantern


paper lantern

her alabaster realms
oft winked in twilight’s purple smudges,
explained by plausibility
of fabricated excuses,
that failed to erase dark umbras
floating in bruised gaze
of fluid, too bright eyes.

her laughter was brittle
like the echo of glass bangles
shattering into splinters
on harshness of indifferent concrete,
a voice as silhouettes of ughten
~ darkness preluding aurora’s gold,
her moods flickering
as a tempest’s temperament,
grayish and thunderous
or tinted in liquid rainbow smiles.

hers was a dual existence,
a deliberate split personality–
she wore expressions like bland mask
her deep thoughts unfathomable,
those that she hid even from self
she believed her own lies
living in illusions of fairy tales,
scared of ugly realities.

living a seemingly enviable life,
she often seemed alone in crowds
lost in her own contemplation
a sigh of pain clung
to her skin like a rancid odor
refusing to be washed away,
she was wrapped in invisible secrets
like winter mist’s ambiguities.

yearnings tinged her smiles
hope the artlessness of her grins,
she craved to be a paper lantern
destined to scatter
radiance in nocturnal darkness,
adding sweetness of milk
to bitter espressos of existence.

rain-songs mutely flowed
on her grief-stained cheeks,
hastily adsorbed on paper tissues
in stolen moments,
she was a mirage~
her life a pieced kaleidoscope
formed of stained glass fragments,
beautiful but useless.

he had lured her naiveté,
tentacles of soft words imprisoning her
enthralled by his charm
she was ensnared assuming
bright dead leaves to be flowers,
now her illusions shattered
she see sneers in his plastic smiles
and abused by cutting sarcasm
she must wear crayon smiles
painted on poker faces
to salvage her humiliated pride…

Vermilioned Widow…



bangles in flamboyant colors
jingle on fawn skinned arms
like rainbows corded on wrists
ornate jewels of gold and gems
enhance her radiant persona.

blushing scarlet, celestial orb
that ravenous waves swallow, at dusk
is aglow on her forehead
as lunar maiden peeps through
dark floating strands of clouds
akin to wisps of  soot-like smoke.

her face glows through
veil of silken tresses
flying at wind’s whimsical moods,
a streak of scarlet vermilion
is like blood flowing between parted locks
a bond that ties her
into a sacrosanct union with
her (so-called) beloved.

a symbol of her nuptial pledge
her palms are scented in
intricate patterns of henna
and her feet with silver anklets
are dyed in hue of roses.

all brocade, silk and jewels
she stands a silent silhouette
with an earthen lamp glowing
in tiny pinches of vermilion
and turmeric and rice grains
on an ornate silver plate
but chiseled dewy lips
lack their shy smile
– of  anticipation.

hope has long  died
behind  her vacant  eyes
she stands as
a decorated mannequin
enacting a mere charade
a sarcastic joke of fate,
shackled by chains of tradition,
compelled by stringent
yet putrefied norms
of orthodoxy.

dinosaurs of society
and hopeless faith
Of a stubborn father
in existence of a son long lost
hurling whirlpools of Styx…


Her angst stains twilight in purple bruises…


Her eyes are charcoal smudges,
twin, vacant potholes
floating with muddy thoughts,
which had once wept
only the idiosyncrasies of onions
~ peeled and quartered,
now they are mystical depths
where nights curl obscure angst.

Naiveté covered her dimples
in soft shadows,
dappling her face in photon-dust
of innocent, artless freckles,
while every dawn
was a chrysalis of intrigue
defined in emerging hues
vivid in their resplendence.

A paradox unfolds in life,
as antonyms are juxtaposed
in an uncomplicated existence,
which becomes a bitter-sour piccalilli
barely gulped down a flinching tongue,
she now sees with intuitive sorrow
in crescent moon, melted desires,
erased by silhouettes of pain.

Splintering glass bangles of dreams
into fragments of futility,
their clinking pieces ripping
her shocked gloom in tatters,
she was a bird of maimed emotions
with wings which refuse
to fly, shackled by sneering fear.

Bruising kisses blaspheme her love
as marauding fingers sully
the soul of her virgin fidelities,
muting her serrated cries of pain
she must endure his touch
and his torturing humiliations,
pledged to him by nuptial vows.

Her days are yellowed pages,
dogeared by tentacles of epithets
voiced in sarcasm and anger,
her aspirations withering
like burnished leafage in autumn,
as she is the cursed daffodil,
throttled by chill of snowflakes
in uncharitable, harsh realms of winter,
when she deserved honeydew spring.

Sighs roll off her tongue in despair
as she accepts inflicted pain,
her tears frosting clarity of smiles
now an apparition of reluctance,
while deft strokes of her concealer
seek to cover bruising violets of pain…