Fairy-tales of the Meads -2…

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Rapunzel tendrils
of dusk-lorn wisterias,
hang in scented breeze
casting long, sinuous shadows
in receding light
and streetlight speculations.

Cinderella escapades
of butterflies
fluttering their nervousness
while ranting in
language of ambiguities,
donning firefly-refulgence
under moonlit fantasies
to ballet in floral ballrooms
only to be left
holding a pumpkin at midnight.

Sleeping beauty,
lost in eternal slumber
wakes up to honeydew kiss of spring
to spread her laughter~
as a golden daffodil,
making the dawn redolent.

Snow-white
whispers of night-jasmine
peppered on soil,
are each like spawned love-child
of sunshine wedded to the moon,
poetry of white and saffron
and perfumed in love.

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Meeting A Cheater…

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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…

I Dreamed of Mother…

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colored tendrils
frozen on distant horizons,
like versicolor yarn
tangled in disarray
~reflecting confusions
of memories mutated
by whimsy of racing eons.

I saw her
face forgotten yet
familiar,
like a faded photo,

her smile like a wisp of fall
floating in potpourri draught,
or a sliver of silver
on uncompromising black
of fathomless night.

fingers yearned
to caress those contours
chiseled in reverie,
but palsied I stood,
mesmerized as a moth
in lantern light,

while she beckoned
with a promise of embrace
long hankered for.

like a rain-song
her presence satiated
the thirst for maternal love,
as my loneliness
was erased forever and beyond,

I relived those
scanty memories
nostalgia a rolling spool
of precious but elusive
moments captured
like fireflies in
in a crystal bottle,
spread prismatic winks
of delight.

her voice
echoed dwarfing
the distance of lost years,
butterflies fluttered
in a hue-filled fog,
my gaze filled
with anticipation
of love nurtured by love
of a mother
now my shadow…

Straits of Slumber  

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Lying with troubles cradled

on softness of cuddly pillows,

eyelids droop as sleep

lulls thought and action alike,

cajoling them into dormant slumber,

while in the straits of somnolence

psychedelic dreams concoct fairy tales.

Unfulfilled desires, unrequited cravings,

conspire with unrestrained imagination

to spin fragments of silken fantasy,

which come together in vibrant patterns

on magical kaleidoscope of Somnus,

letting hopes and lusts bloom

like daffodils drinking honey

from golden cauldron of the heavens.

With the wildest of magical things,

future telling orbs, flying horses, castles of sweets,

trees telling stories and rivers of molten gold,

that never attainted in reality germinates

and blossoms on dreamland’s fertility,

such that the pain of failure

is benumbed by the salve of fantasy.

Hallucinations and delusions

strewn in the alleys of Morpheus,

smudge their traces on fairy-tales spun

as dawn-kissed candy-floss,

tasting like honeydew on palate of fancy,

unicorns, pixies, mermaids and witches,

together inhabit this land of oneiroi,

where jaded practicalities of existence

are sugar-coated in saccharine granules

of fantasy and mystique.

Happy Endings…

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Fairy tales are like fragments

of candy-floss dreams from realms of Morpheus,

concocting a kaleidoscopic delight

of fantasy and wistfulness,

to be savored by the gullible soul

with a faith in happy endings.

When the drab realities of life

its harshness, scars, bruises and emptiness,

make living an insipid chore

and dejection makes breathing tedious,

then some stolen moments

with a dog-eared treasure of magical lore

rejuvenates and heals,

reviving the fading belief in happy endings.

Fairy tales are like conjurer’s sleeves,

from whence emerge,

the unbelievable, fantastic and amazing,

a flying carpet, a talking mirror,

a fruit of immortality, a castle in the clouds,

the wildest of imagination

germinating on the fertility

of a storyteller’s canvas,

and yielding these arms of fantasy,

the pragmatic is slain

to enhance the flavor of existence,

as a smile glitters

to define yet another happy ending.

Within Realms of a Dream

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within surreal dream,
my consciousness floats
dangling between
reality and fantasy as
a pendulum in sway,
life seems a fleeting array
of distorted images
etched by imagination,
as opaque becomes abstract
transparency is misted
by the dewdrops of fancy.

in chimerical avenues
of distorted misconceptions,
the mind sojourns
confounded entirely by
hallucinations and delusions,
warding away into the straits
of labyrinthine catacombs,
away from banks of
a flagrant, vibrant reality.

a nascent sliver of reality
lingers on the gossamer visage
of fluorescent surrealism,
and clawing at this straw
consciousness seeks in vain to
emerge from procellous realms
of grotesque nightmare
of schizophrenia…

Daydreams…

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lost in obscure,
serpentine alleys of
surreal daydreams,
that engulf a moment
like dew grasped within
closing fronds of
touch-me-not leaves,
she sighs moist patches
on the visage of
clear window panes.

her imagination
is a gossamer veil akin
to mist of winter’s threshold,
that drapes some instant
that plays truant from
realms of reality,
groves of veracity,
to recline on cassock
of bittersweet fantasy.

in these moments
of escape from life’s sojourn
wishes blossom, desires flower
the incense of hope
seeps into the pores of skin
to enter marrow
of existence,
this is a bubble from
fluid of molten rainbow
and liquid moonbeams
that bursts after a moment
yet leaves lingering
dew of whimsical smiles.

like feathers of a dove,
peppered confetti in arms of
aromatic autumnal breeze,
the etched stardust trail of
a falling comet on indigo,
the song of a robin in flight,
blossoms of hursingar
daydreams are transient
fabrications of whimsy
that leave a lurking smile
or a twinkle of hope
in eyes long disillusioned…