Poetry is Born…

Standard

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.

Advertisements

Rule of Survival…

Standard

sitting on seashore
at twilight hour beneath
cornflower skies~
freckled in fleeting clouds,
I watched cavorting tides
form turrets of false hopes–
only to be shattered
into splattered brine-droplets.

sea gulls shrieked in
language unknown to my ears~
imitating fish wife’s noisy rancor,
and palm trees danced
to the cerulean threnody,
while a dying sun~
eagerly gobbled by
the vociferous sea-waves,
left the skies covered
in fuchsias and wisterias.

in this soothing panorama,
I sat with a storm hurling within
trying to bring tempestuous emotions
within stoic control,
but raging sentiments for once
refused to be subdued,
just then mercurial mood
of weather changed
and I saw the docile clouds gather
on once serene sky
like gathering fury inside me.

a frown was etched
on the brow of tranquility,
thunder raged and winds went insane
howling and squealing
like a banshee,
waves tandem went berserk
and sea gulls leaped for cover,
while on the geometric rock ashore
I found myself within
the eye of a storm,
I saw the sky smeared in kohl
the hues of crepuscule erased,
and watched as giant palms
bowed to raging winds.

sitting there
drenched to the bone
I watched as tide and trees both
succumbed to ventose rantings of
the garrulous storm,
I learnt another lesson
on the abacus of tutor nature
that it is better to be cowed
by the indefatigable,
than to fight against it,
this was the rule of survival…